


Dispelling the Silence

by Indygodusk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Bad Puns, Bleeding, Blood Magic, Chickens, Chocolate, Danger, F/M, Flirting, Health problems, Hermione never attended Hogwarts, Hermione schooled in France, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Kissing, Mental Coercion, Murder, Mystery, No Golden Trio, Romance, Tea, Wandless Magic, child endangerment, dark at parts, dead character called a pedophile but no details of crimes, fighting followed by choral singing, ridiculous at parts, sirius adopts harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 80,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7214524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indygodusk/pseuds/Indygodusk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a cousin of Gabrielle and Fleur Delacour, Hermione studied in France. Because Hermione never went to Hogwarts, things changed. Some people who died now live and others who lived are dead. Now a new evil stalks Britain as children disappear from their homes. Harry and Hermione meet for the first time, finding themselves in the middle of the mystery as they struggle to trust each other and protect the ones they love. Will Hermione’s mysterious past prove the key to save them all? Or will it lead to their destruction?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Party Starts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.  
> An AU mystery/romance with Harry x Hermione. Several things in canon have changed because of Hermione’s absence from Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy solving the mystery and watching the romance unfold! I’ve written 65% of this already, so the updates should be very quick for quite a while (and hopefully through to the end).
> 
> Warning – contains child endangerment, kidnapping, murder, and mental coercion

Double-checking the two enameled combs keeping her brown curls contained, Hermione practiced her smile in the mirror. “You’re showing too much teeth, dear. It makes you look a bit touched in the head,” the mirror said snootily. The smile immediately dropped off Hermione’s face.

France had been bad enough. The last thing Hermione needed were more rumors of mental illness here in England. She forced herself to smile with a bit less force and decided that it would have to do. Her smile didn’t have to look happy, just polite.

Suddenly a rapid knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Hermione, the guests have already started to arrive. Are you going to come down soon? I’m so excited!” Gabrielle said through the door. Hermione could picture her bouncing up and down on her toes just from the tone of her voice.

“You go on down. You’re the guest of honor, after all. I’ll be down soon,” Hermione said, double-checking her wand and athame in their discrete holsters and that the small dimensional pouch on her belt still held her chocolate cache, emergency potions, and the three large books she planned to retreat to a corner with if things got too bad. She also had the last few days’ worth of newspapers. She’d gotten behind in her periodical reading since Gabrielle had arrived.

“But cousin,” Gabrielle said through the door, “you have only been in England for six months yourself. I’m sure there are people Fleur could still introduce you to.”

_Could? Of course. Wanted to? Unlikely._

Hermione knew that Fleur loved her. With a Delacour, family always came first. But despite her general affection and loyalty, Fleur had never understood her “obstinate’” and “strange” English cousin. They’d decided by mutual agreement to stop trying to push Hermione on Fleur’s friends.

The last time Hermione had been invited to a party with the Weasley family, it had been a disaster. Bill’s brother Ron had made a heavy-handed pass in front of everyone, refused her attempt to redirect the boring and uncomfortable conversation towards a more interesting and neutral topic like the history of Hogwarts, and then called her “mental” in front of the entire family when she finally had to bluntly turn him down for a date. She hadn’t wanted to go in the first place and that had just cemented her intention to follow her instincts about parties from then on.

As if Ron’s insult hadn’t stung enough, Fleur had later taken her aside and scolded her for not giving her brother-in-law a chance. Molly Weasley, Ron’s mother, also seemed to think Hermione was putting on airs and thought herself too good for her son. Molly had treated her with stiff civility ever since. Most of the family except for Bill and his twin brothers had followed their mother’s lead and treated her with polite coolness.

In addition to the awkwardness from the Weasleys, Hermione didn’t feel like enduring another evening rehashing everyone’s war exploits. Then there were the awkward questions that came about her schooling abroad. People always made assumptions when they learned she was English but schooled in France, as if she’d personally chosen to run away from the war at the age of eleven and should have transferred back into Hogwarts as soon as possible or something equally inane. Never mind the fact that half the teachers at Hogwarts weren’t even certified to teach by the International Board of Magical Education, that muggleborns were injured and killed at a higher rate than any other group of students, that even the-boy-who-lived almost got killed every year he’d attended the school, and that she’d barely been a legal adult when Voldemort had been defeated.   

Besides, she’d been busy fighting her own battle in France. Hermione would never regret that. By the time she’d graduated school and gotten out from her French magical guardian’s legal control, the war was over. She had nothing to apologize for and she didn’t owe anyone an explanation. Now if she could just get herself to believe her own logic too, everything would be perfect.

Hermione stopped woolgathering and opened the door to her impatient cousin. Forcing cheer into her voice, she said, “Don’t be silly, Gabrielle. You are the focus of this party, not me. Everyone’s here to meet you: my sweet, no-longer-so-little cousin, recently graduated with high honors from Beauxbatons, winner of a prize internship at the British Ministry of Magic and,” she reached up and tucked a strand of silver blond hair behind Gabrielle’s ear, “with a much better grasp of the English language than your sister had at your age. Go down and shine! Make new friends, have fun, and spread your wings without your overprotective relatives constantly reining you back.”

Hermione shrugged and then winked. “Well, except for me and Fleur, but we’ll go easy on you unless you look like you’re going to do something monumentally stupid. Go on, fly. You deserve it.”

Gabrielle gave her a sweetly shy smile. “I have been looking forward to finally living life outside the shadows and away from all of the locks, but Hermione, I want to spend more time with you too. We’ve been so distant the last few years, since… since it happened. I hoped that by coming to England, we could reconnect,” she said soulfully.

Blinking back tears, Hermione reached out and hugged her cousin, no longer a plump-cheeked little girl but now a tall and willowy young woman. “I would love that too.” Hermione drew back and added, “But I am serious about this being a party for you. Your sister has gone to a lot of trouble to welcome you. I want you to enjoy it! I’m almost done here and then I’ll come downstairs, promise.”

Hermione didn’t do well at big parties. No matter how hard she tried, someone always seemed to take offense at something she said. Well, either that or they started yawning and escaped the boredom at the first opportunity. She could do work mixers and family holidays; she knew how to act there and what to say. Too bad this was the worst combination of the two and guaranteed to make the house full to bursting.

“Very well, I’ll talk to you later then,” Gabrielle said with a shadowed smile, turning and walking away down the hall.

Closing the door softly, Hermione rested her forehead against the back of the door and breathed. Would Gabrielle’s reaching out turn to subtle pushing away just like Fleur’s had? How would she react when she didn’t get the answers to her questions?

Hermione desperately wanted to recapture the close relationship they’d enjoyed before everything went wrong. She loved her cousin more than anything, but sometimes love just wasn’t enough. The last six years had taught her that.

Stepping back, she reached into her pouch and pulled out a piece of chocolate. As it melted bittersweet in her mouth, she focused on the good things in her life. She had her own flat here in England. Her job as a researcher at the Ministry of Magic was also going well. In fact, she’d significantly increased the productivity of her department.

Plus, she had the joy of getting to know Fleur’s little girls, Victoire and Dominique. Although Fleur rarely left her alone with the children, she still fostered the relationship. Hermione loved them and they loved her back unreservedly. That counted for a lot.

Just last week she’d had a fun discussion with the girls about the book of French Fairytales she’d given them as a gift. They’d talked about Little Red Riding Hood, and how the woodcutter in the French version was actually a hunter in the German. Since their father had a few wolfish traits leftover from a fight with a werewolf in the last war, the girls were understandably interested in the tale.

These past six months had been difficult, but also freeing. She felt herself starting to flourish here in England. Adjusting her dark red dress robes one more time, Hermione swallowed the last of her chocolate and stared unflinchingly into the mirror.  _You can do this._

“You should smile more, Sweetheart. Not many guys go for the steely-eyed look. Your face is as good as it’s going to get without a better glamour. Maybe you should try a professional stylist next time if you’re this worried,” the mirror chimed in, zooming in on a few of Hermione’s perceived problem areas.

“Yes, thank you for your entirely unsolicited opinion,” Hermione snapped. “Next time, feel free to keep it to yourself.” She knew what she looked like. Beyond a few subtle cosmetics, she didn’t bother with much.

Even the strongest glamour did nothing when Hermione stood next to her Delacour cousins. Fleur might pat her on the head for making some effort, but no one else would notice. What normal girl could compete against someone with a quarter Veela in their blood? She’d given up years ago. No man would look at Hermione if any of her cousins were around, even the married cousins. Better to just be herself and hope that someone would one day appreciate it. A relationship built on a lie was doomed to failure.

Shaking off her annoyance, Hermione practiced her polite but not crazy smile one more time. Then she strode out of the bathroom and walked down the hall. She just had to make one stop first before joining the party.


	2. Harry’s Bottle of Fire Whisky

Gulping down half of the dusty bottle of fire whisky had done nothing for Harry’s mood. It tasted foul and hit his stomach like an angry dragon’s tail. He should have known better. He did know better.

This enforced weekend off had been a bad idea. Next time his adoptive father, boss, and partner all teamed up against him, he was going to give them a piece of his mind! Or something. He’d figure it out when he felt sober again.

There was a reason he didn’t drink alcohol. Harry just couldn’t bother remember it right now. He never would have even found the bottle if he hadn’t tried to distract himself by cleaning the house from top to bottom this weekend. He liked cleaning.

Alcohol, not so much.

The bottle of fire whisky felt tacky from old dust. He rolled it between his fingertips and grimaced. His hands now felt just as disgusting as his tongue. Maybe the alcohol could burn off the stickiness from his hands just like it’d burned the lining of his throat? He’d found the bottle the back of the bottom corner cupboard along with a ragged set of robes from the final battle. Someone must have cleaned them. Harry certainly hadn’t cared enough to.

Drinking the other bottle of Fire Whisky hadn’t helped him feel better after Voldemort’s defeat six years ago. Drinking this bottle hadn’t helped him feel better about his godson now. _Stupid, Harry, really stupid._

Sitting in his living room with only a fire for company, Harry stared at the picture of himself standing proudly but nervously by Remus and Tonks holding baby Teddy. They’d died just a few months later. His thoughts turned maudlin. _Poor Teddy, orphaned by the war… just like Harry himself._

Despite being an orphan and inheriting some wolfish traits from his father, Teddy was happy. At six, he’d just started attending his local learning garden. The boy had a loving guardian and friends who adored him.

As his godfather, Harry adored him too. Harry had been failed by too many adults in his life. He’d wanted Teddy’s life to be different. He didn’t know if he could handle becoming one of the very adults he’d scorned for failing him.

A faint chime sounded from his communication mirror, but it was the general message chime, not the urgent one. Harry ignored it, just like he’d ignored all of the other general messages this weekend. Everyone knew to use the emergency channel if they had important news. Otherwise they could just piss off.

Picking up the sloshing bottle of fire whiskey, Harry glared at it furiously. He wavered between drinking and violence. But he’d never been a drinker. Life had chiseled Harry into a fighter and alcohol tasted disgusting anyways.

Lunging to his feet, Harry screamed as he threw the bottle of whisky hard against the wall. It exploded with a loud crash.  Alcohol splattered as shards of glass careened across his living room.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron yelped from where he’d just stuck his head through the floo. Harry’s glare was ignored as Ron turned his head to say, “Everything’s fine. Just wait here a second, ladies. We’ll be along soon.”

Then Ron stepped into the room cautiously. Swishing his wand, Ron quickly cleaned up the mess. He made sure to keep half an eye on Harry the whole time.

Harry scowled. Maybe he didn’t want the mess gone. It was his house, not Ron’s.

“What are you doing, Ron?” Harry demanded crossly. He felt a distant pride that his voice lacked even a hint of drunken slur.

“I’m here to pick you up for Bill’s party, mate. Fleur’s little sister just got into town, remember? The cute and now entirely legal one with a crush on you for saving her life during the Tri-wizard Tournament?” Ron clapped him on the back. “Gabrielle has a summer internship at the Ministry and they’re throwing a party.”

“I don’t want to go to a party,” Harry growled, “especially not right now.” Then he looked over and added, “Besides, Gabrielle’s just a kid.”

Pursing his lips, Ron looked Harry up and down. “Harry, you are running yourself into the ground. Punishing yourself isn’t helping anyone, especially when you have more than just this one case to work on. You need to relax for long enough that you can at least sleep a little, and don’t try to lie to me and say you’re fine because I can tell you’re not. Come to the party, let yourself have a little fun, relax, and then go back to work tomorrow with fresh eyes.”

When Harry still hesitated, Ron added, “I ran into your Dad earlier. Sirius is going to stop by the party later. He expects to see you there. If you don’t show up with me, you’ll just get dragged out later by someone else.”

Disgruntled, Harry decided it would be too much effort to keep resisting, especially with both Ron and Sirius badgering him. “Fine,” he grumbled.

“Good, but you smell like a brewery. At least scourgify your robes, for Merlin’s sake,” Ron said.

Annoyed, Harry pulled out his wand and cast a couple of cleaning charms on himself. He didn’t bother with his hair or breath though. Maybe it would get people to avoid him at the party. Harry hoped so.

“If you don’t want Gabrielle, who is actually 17 now and a complete beauty like her sister, then can I have a go at her?” Ron asked while Harry cleaned himself. “She’s practically a wet dream.”

“Ron, you are 23 and have yet to keep a girlfriend longer than three months. Your on and off again thing with Lavender doesn’t count. You’re too old and pushy to be romantically pursuing a sweet and sheltered girl who’s only 17.”

Then Harry turned and skewered Ron with a scorching glare. The temperature in the room quickly rose. Sweat beaded on their skin and began dripping off their hair and chins. Harry stepped forward menacingly. “And if Fleur, one of the greatest duelists living in England, doesn’t take you apart at the seams for even thinking about treating her little sister like a slab of meat, then I will. Leave Gabrielle Delacour alone!”

Turning white, Ron gulped. “Merlin’s beard, Harry, you’re scary when you’re drunk. I didn’t mean anything bad by it! You know that. I won’t even flirt with her, alright? Just tone it down.”

Closing his eyes, Harry wrestled his magic back under control. “Fine,” he said shortly. “Just don’t talk about women like that.”

“I won’t,” Ron said. “Sorry, I do know better than that. The Veela thing just makes me stupid. I’ll work on it.”

Harry did know Ron better than that. His friend said idiotic things, but he really was a good man at heart. Normal temperatures returned to the room as Harry calmed down.  “Okay,” Harry said finally.

“Whatever,” Ron said with a shrug as the two walked to the floo. “Let’s just get going, alright? Lav and Parvati are waiting on us.”

Harry abruptly stopped. “This isn’t a double date, right?”

Ron snorted. “I’ve learned better than to spring such a disaster on you, Harry. No, Lavender and I aren’t dating again. We’re just friends right now. She’s worried about Parvati though, you know she’s never really recovered from the loss of Padma. Lately she’s become a bit of a recluse. When we saw her last week at Fortescue’s creamery she looked bloody awful. Lav ambushed her and is dragging her to the party, so I decided to follow her lead and force you to come too. You can be grumpy together in a corner if it makes you feel better.” 

“No thanks,” Harry grimaced. “You know she makes me uncomfortable. She finally stopped hitting on me right before the final battle, but now every time we meet she blatantly stares at all the scars on my face. I’m not sure if she’s attracted or repelled, but either way it’s creepy.”

Wincing in sympathy, Ron grabbed the floo powder. “Right, well, hopefully Lav will keep her distracted. You know you can barely even see the scars on your cheek and forehead anymore. Maybe that’s why she looks, because you can barely see them unless you know what to look for?”

“It’s still creepy, Ron,” Harry shuddered.

Shrugging in agreement, Ron suddenly paused awkwardly, “Uh, before we go, you might want to take a sober-up potion.”

“I don’t have any. I don’t usually drink, remember? That bottle was the only alcohol in the entire house. If my lack of sobriety offends you, why don’t you just leave me here to sleep it off,” Harry snapped with irritation, his mood once more taking a nose dive.

“Nope, nuh uh,” Ron said, grabbing his arm. “I promised to get you to the party and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Fine.” Shaking off Ron’s hold crossly, Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder and followed Ron as he threw the powder, stated their destination, and ducked into the fireplace.

The two men came out into a nice waiting room. Lavender and Parvati were sitting next to each other on a couch sharing a newspaper. "But why puce?" Lavender lamented. "I could see lime working so much better and I actually look good in lime. It’s cheerful and poppy."

"You could try using the puce as an accent instead of the focus," Parvati suggested seriously. “We can both try it out tomorrow. I have a dress I can modify from brown to puce easily.”

Harry turned to Ron with a look of horror. Ron grimaced and shrugged. Then he turned to the ladies on the couch.

"Sorry that took so long," Ron said. "Anything exciting in the news besides that fashion stuff I don't care about? In fact, does anyone but you care about a color that’s an unnecessary mix of brownish, purplish, and reddish and has a weird name? And the fact that I know what puce is makes me want to run out the door and start talking quidditch with the first bloke I see."

Twin sighs of annoyance greeted his words. "Really, Ron, do you have to be like that? This is exactly why we aren't dating anymore," Lavender scowled prettily.

"The Weird Sisters have a new album coming out," Parvati said into the tense silence with a ghost of her old smile. But at least it was a smile, Harry thought. She'd lost a lot of her sparkle and verve when her twin had been killed by Fenrir Grayback in the final battle. Most of the time Harry found her rather weird and uncomfortable now. He felt guilty about it, but that didn’t make him stop avoiding her.

"Yes, that's exciting. Parvati and I are definitely getting tickets when they start touring again," Lavender enthused. "You can come if you'd like, Ron.” Then she wrinkled her nose and said, “There's also a piece about another werewolf missing from his home right before the last full moon, but no one's too worried about that." The way Parvati's smile sharpened made Harry shiver.

"Oh, and Harry," Lavender started flipping pages, "there's a piece in here about your godfather’s first month as Deputy Minister of Magic. The picture's rotten, but you might want to check it out as it's pretty well written." She held up the picture of Sirius standing on the front steps of the Ministry of Magic with several other Department heads, but the wind kept whipping his hair across his face and the long veil worn by the woman next to him kept getting tangled around his arm and neck. It was actually quite humorous, though the alcohol in his system might be magnifying that. His dad was vain enough that it would probably be a good thing to tease him with.

"I'll check it out, thanks," he said.

Harry's momentary good mood disappeared when he turned and saw Parvati staring at the faint scars on his face again. She didn't even seem to be blinking. Scowling at her didn't help either.

Suddenly Ron clapped his hands together. "Well, let's get this party on the road," he said. Lavender tucked the paper away and they left the room just as another group came in through the floo. Harry thought about ducking back and returning home, but Ron must have sensed something, because the big redhead slung his arm over Harry's shoulder and used his size to drag Harry outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, Sirius is alive and Padma Patil is now dead in this universe. I’ve changed a few more deaths in the next few chapters too. You’ll have to let me know what you think. I’d also love to know your thoughts on the mysteries I’m sprinkling hints about here and there. Thanks for reading!


	3. The Introduction

Popping her head into the little girls’ room, Hermione saw that Fleur’s daughters were sleeping. She came inside and placed a soft kiss on each of their silvery blond heads. They were sprawled out sideways in their beds with stuffed animals and blankets strewn around messily. Hermione carefully picked each girl up and laid their head back on their pillow, smoothing the sheets back up over their shoulders. The room was quiet except for the soft snuffle of their breathing.

Hermione stepped out of the room and double-checked the barrier on the door that would block out the sound of the party. The hallway already seemed loud with the voices of the people downstairs. Of course the sound barrier was perfect, as could only be expected of someone with Fleur’s talent. Their mother had also set charms on the stairwell to discourage people from the party from coming up.

However, there weren’t any other barriers on the door but the one for sound. The window had some seriously dangerous protections on it if anyone tried to break in, but not the door. Hermione bit her lip in indecision for a split second before making up her mind and drawing her wand.

Speaking softly but firmly, she cast a temporary ward spell to keep out anyone with ill intent. Without permanent runes to anchor it, the ward wouldn’t last past breakfast. Then she sheathed her wand and pricked her finger with her black handled athame. Balancing the bead of blood on the blade, she used the athame to cast another temporary ward at the door. It would repel anyone not related closely to the girls themselves and send her a notification that it had been tripped. Although half of the people out there were probably Weasleys and unaffected by her blood ward, Hermione would rather be scolded for being overly cautious than have something happen to her little cousins with all of the strangers in the house.

She’d personally patented the blood ward spell years ago from her research into repurposing forgotten spells from old family grimoires. The blood-based spells didn’t sell well in Britain, but most of the wizarding world wasn’t so prejudiced. The profits had helped pay for her relocation to Britain and kept her in new books and the expensive chocolates she favored.

Tucking her things away, Hermione went downstairs. As expected, the party had already become a crush. People filled the living room and spilled out onto both the front and backyard.

As she made her way around the edge of the room, she caught sight of Ron Weasley. Preferring to avoid an awkward conversation, she stopped and began edging towards the backyard instead. However, before she could fully escape, Fleur caught her eye and imperiously gestured her forward. Sighing, Hermione plastered a polite expression on her face and braced herself.

By the time she made it through the crowds, Hermione was just in time to see Gabrielle lean back from hugging a dangerously attractive man standing next to Ron. Hermione felt an almost a visceral jolt of attraction. Catching her breath, she examined him from beneath her lashes.

The mystery man looked to be slightly below average height, which made him seem short standing next to the tall Ron and statuesque Delacour sisters in their heels. However, he didn’t need to be tall to exude presence. Hermione couldn’t help but notice his muscular arms, broad shoulders, and trim waist. Below messy chocolate-brown hair sat a pair of striking green eyes. Stubble adorned a very stubborn jaw. He had several very faint but intriguing scars across his cheek, eyebrow, and up onto his forehead beneath his bangs. They added an alluring air of mystery instead of detracting from his appearance.

He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t figure out from where. She would have remembered meeting a man like that. If he was a friend of Ron’s, most likely she’d seen him in one of the many pictures covering the walls of the Weasley home. Hermione wanted to dislike him since he’d come with Ron, but knew that was petty. Of course, wanting to like him just because she found him extremely attractive wasn’t very rational either.

Beneath his compelling features he failed to completely hide his turbulent emotions. She could read weariness and irritation in the slant of his mouth. Yet his chin and eyes also gave off a subtle vibe of power, as if he’d find a way to kick down the very doors of hell itself if they were in his way. This attractive stranger looked dangerous.

_Try not to rattle that tiger’s cage_ , she noted to herself. Usually she avoided dangerous men. In the past, she’d dated men who were safe and nice. Yet despite that, she still found herself extremely curious. She felt drawn to this mysterious, green-eyed man, like fate was bringing them together.

Then Hermione shook herself. She needed to check her overactive imagination. She was being ridiculous, imagining things about a stranger. It was completely unlike her.

“It’s so good to see you again!” Gabrielle said to the mystery man with a sparkling grin, leaning forward again. She placed two kisses on each cheek in familiar greeting. He smiled down at her faintly, as if unable to help himself. It made his face even more attractive. Few men could resist the joyous beauty of someone a quarter-Veela. But with a sweet spirit like Gabrielle, who would bother to try?

Looking up, Gabrielle noticed Hermione standing quietly off to the side. Her smile widened before she turned back to her guest. “I’m so happy you came! Come, you must meet my cousin Hermione,” Gabrielle insisted, taking the man’s hand and tugging on his arm.

“Maybe some other time,” he demurred. “I’m not in the mood. I don’t plan on staying long.”

“But she’s right over here,” Gabrielle insisted with another tug.

“Go on,” Ron said, lips twitching as he elbowed his friend. “Stop being such a rude clod. Meeting her is sure to be an… educational experience for you.” Ron chuckled to himself.

Hermione felt her mouth go tight.

Unmoved, the man said, “I’d really rather not.”

Feeling horribly awkward, Hermione went to step backwards when Gabrielle changed tactics, bounced over, and grabbed Hermione instead. Not expecting the tug on her arm, Hermione stumbled forward until she came to a halt directly in front of Ron’s friend. This close, Hermione could smell a faint whiff of alcohol on his breath and see flecks of amber in his irritated green eyes. He had unfairly long, dark lashes.

“Here she is,” Gabrielle announced, “my cousin Hermione!” She waved her hand between the two of them with a flourish.

“I can see that the family beauty skipped a generation,” he said. Then he winced and looked away awkwardly.

Everyone froze for a moment. Gabrielle looked stunned, almost like a kicked puppy. Fleur’s lips drew thin. Ron looked half-shocked and half-amused.

But no one said anything or stepped up to defend Hermione.

_That’s fine. She was used to it. Who cared about some drunken stranger’s opinion?_

Hermione steeled her heart. All she needed to care about was keeping her cousins happy by making sure this didn’t become a bigger scene. People were already starting to look over at their strangely quiet little grouping.

“I’m related through their human relatives, not the Veela side,” Hermione forced out in a level voice. “Obviously. Enjoy the rest of the party until you leave.” Then she turned on her heel and marched off with her head held high and her back straight. She’d had plenty of practice trying to deflect rudeness with canned, polite replies. This man would stay a stranger and quickly fade from her memory into obscurity. It would be fine.

Despite her intention to avoid him for the rest of the evening, the intriguing stranger seemed to be a very popular man. People kept forcing him to join them, making it impossible to plant herself in one spot and avoid seeing him. Everyone seemed to know him. Everyone wanted come over to talk to him or shake his hand, despite him only arriving half of an hour before. He kept trying to sidle towards the front door or the edge of the yard to escape, but people kept cutting him off and dragging him deeper into the party.

After a while, it started to amuse her. Only Fleur’s and Gabrielle’s unhappiness at his surliness stifled the reaction. Obviously they cared about the man.

A couple of times she heard his distinctive voice answering someone’s question with a snap of irritation, but once again, no one seemed to call him to task. _Perhaps he was a nobleman? The son of someone famous? Or perhaps someone rich that people owed money or jobs to? How else could she explain it?_

“Dearest cousin of our sister-in-law!” two voices proclaimed in grand duet as Fred and George Weasley popped up by her side.

“How goes the people watching?” asked Fred.

“Have you seen our mum?” asked George. “I’d like to avoid her, so I figured talking to you was a safe bet.”

Fred added, “Considering your-”

“-bad relationship,” finished George, “because you refuse to worship at the feet of little Ronnikins.”

“Though we must admit,” Fred said.

“-privately,” George interrupted.

Fred nodded his head and continued, “that he’s a great employee and an idiot savant at strategic marketing.”

George added, “Our profits have skyrocketed since we hired him.”

“But as for relationships with women, especially strong minded and intelligent women,” Fred said.

“I think you showed good discernment there in avoiding Ron,” George finished.

“Too right,” Fred seconded. “Though getting back to Mum, I’m not the one in trouble for once, just him.”

Shrugging, Hermione looked around. “I haven’t seen Molly yet. Why are you in trouble, George?”

“How do you know that the one in trouble’s George?” asked George defensively.

Smirking, Hermione reached over and tugged down on George’s collar. “Because I saw Angelina mauling a redhead’s neck behind the shed about ten minutes ago and you’re the one with the hickeys.”

“How do you know she didn’t make a mistake and accidentally kiss Fred instead?” asked Fred.

Leaning forward, Hermione whispered, “Because she can tell the difference, as you well know. Fred isn’t as good of a kisser. I’m told he uses too much tongue and not enough teeth.” At Fred’s disgruntled face, Hermione leaned back with a laugh.

“Too right, mate,” George said. “Get your own wife.”

“Not yet if I can help it,” Fred said. “Though maybe I should avoid Mum for that reason too. She keeps throwing women at me.”

Then George turned to Hermione and explained, “Mum’s trying to guilt Angelina into getting pregnant again. She already has the names picked out and is afraid someone else will get pregnant first and snatch them.”

“But Angelina says that it’s her uterus and her vagina and that if mum is so concerned about it then she can use her own body and just have some more babies herself,” Fred said. “And telling you that made me throw up in my mouth a little.” He swallowed hard and looked faintly green. “It’s better for my mental health not to think about either my sister-in-law or mother like that.”

“If you’re going to throw up, let’s get some food first so we can aim you at someone we don’t like and make it more spectacular,” George suggested.

“Alright,” shrugged Fred agreeably.

Shaking her head, Hermione said, “Catch you guys later.” They waved and wandered off towards the food tables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to try to update every 2 to 3 days with short chapters. Hopefully I can make it last! Please let me know what you think of the story as it unfolds. As you can see, the twin killed in this universe was Padma Patil instead of a Weasley twin. Feel free to check out my indygodusk tumblr to see related pictures. I also have my mucha inspired story banner up there if you want a copy. I spent hours on it and feel very proud of myself.  
> Chapter Cast  
> Hermione Granger = Emma Watson  
> Harry Potter = Daniel Radcliffe  
> Gabrielle Delacour = Elle Fanning  
> Fleur Delacour = Dakota Fanning


	4. Hermione Eavesdrops

Glancing at the clock through the window, Hermione calculated that she only needed to socialize for another thirty minutes before her duty was done and she could escape. Gabrielle and Fleur seemed to be having a good time for the most part, except when they ventured too near the mystery man and one of his sharp comments.

_She really needed to get his name from somebody_.

When that happened, her cousins would get the same sad, unhappy pinched line between their brows. Hermione hated to see it. She wished the man would just leave like he'd promised. Obviously liquor had made him lose all tact and put him in a foul mood. At least the rudeness wasn't specific to her. She took some comfort in that.

Accidentally catching the eye of a passing woman, Hermione found herself approached. Luckily she managed to turn the awkwardness into an interesting conversation. The woman, one Parvati Patil, wore a fashionable pink sari. She kept her dark hair in an enviably smooth plait and bore two silver letter ' _P_ 's prominently displayed on a necklace around her neck. Hermione wondered if they were meant to be her initials or someone else's.

They settled down on a bench to talk. For a few minutes they discussed the differences in potion ingredient regulation in Britain versus France and how that affected the history of the fashion industry. Parvati seemed more informed about the fashion side of things than the potion side, but it still turned into a lively discussion.

Then their talk turned to the legislation of creatures like werewolves and house-elves. Caught up in the topic, Hermione enthusiastically explained her interest in Creatures' Rights. However, in the middle of Hermione's sentence Parvati abruptly stood up from the bench, causing Hermione's words to stumble to a stop. Confused, Hermione stood up awkwardly as well. "I disagree," Parvati said bluntly. Then she turned around and marched off in a huff.

Taken aback once again by the rudeness of English people, Hermione blew out an annoyed breath. At least in France, people insulted you with style. You could admire the cut even as you waited for it to start bleeding. Her years in France had made her forget that the British preferred bluntness over elegance.

"Don't take it personally," Angelina Weasley said sadly from behind Hermione's shoulder.

"Why not?" Hermione asked crossly. She was tired of rude people at this party.

"Her twin sister Padma was killed by a werewolf in the final battle," Angelina explained. "That's why she wears the twin 'p's on her necklace, to remember her twin. She hates werewolves. She can barely stand to even be in the same room as Fleur and Bill, though whether it's because Bill survived a werewolf attack and her sister didn't, or because he now has a few wolfish traits I can't say. I've told Ron to stop inviting her to family parties, but he never listens. Ignore her rudeness if you can."

"Oh," Hermione replied, not sure how to feel at that revelation.

Suddenly someone yelped at the edge of the garden. Two identical redheads came running around the corner and dived into the house. "I should go see what's happening now," Angelina said with a wry smile. Then she turned and followed after her husband and brother-in-law.

A minute later, Molly Weasley walked around the corner of the house. Hermione darted back behind the nearest bush to avoid her. She'd rather hide than deal with that woman right now. The twins had the right idea. Her emotions already felt raw enough without enduring another uncomfortable conversation. Hermione didn't care if it was immature to hide behind a bush either.

Unfortunately, Molly stopped walking only a few feet away. She was accompanied by an older gentleman dressed completely in plum velvet from the fabric of his boots to his flamboyant top hat. Additionally, Molly's arm was looped through and dragging along the attractive but rude man from before. Hermione glared at them from behind her plant and then shifted with a quiet sigh.

Well, i _f she had to hide like this, at least she'd hopefully get lucky and finally hear someone say his name_.

The man in plum took off his hat and fiddled with the brim for a second before looking over at her mystery man. "I've always wanted to ask, just how did you find you-know-who in the end? You've never said."

Hermione froze. _Were they talking about Voldemort AKA Tom Riddle AKA You-Know-Who to the British wizarding community!? Or… someone else?_ A suspicion ticked along the edges of her mind, but before she could catch at it, they started talking again and she focused on listening.

"Why bring up old gossip when we can talk about something new?" the green-eyed man deflected. "Didn't I hear that your daughter just had a baby?"

Completely diverted, the man in plum puffed up. "Why yes, and a lovely young bairn it is too. She has a full head of hair, our new Millie does, and my family's nose and chin."

Molly Weasley turned to the rude man and shook her finger at him. "You should get started on having a child of your own soon too, young man. The ladies won't wait forever. You've already lost the best."

The man in plum looked at her in confusion, so Molly turned to him and added, "You know who I mean, my Ginny."

Another you-know-who. Could the man in plum have meant Ginny with his original question? Almost anyone could be you-know-who in a conversation. _How frustrating._

"Didn't that end years ago? I thought the two were just friends now, water under the bridge and all that," the older gentleman asked with confusion.

"We are," the rude man said bluntly. "Ginny's very happy right now with her fiancé and I'm still waiting to find the right woman." He took a deep breath. "I refuse to settle for anything less than what my parents had. I think both I and my future wife deserve that level of love and commitment."

His words seemed to almost visibly wilt Molly Weasley. Her lip wobbled for a moment. "You're just so good with all of my grandchildren. I'm sure you'd be a good father to your own. I just want you to have some children of your own to love. Don't you want that?"

Hermione couldn't hear his softly murmured reply, but when he turned away to look across the yard, and coincidentally turned his face in the direction of her plant, she saw his stoic facade drop for just an instant. Guilt, despair, and desperation carved unhappy brackets around his mouth and eyes, aging him prematurely. Then he clamped back down on his emotions and resumed the stoic mask she'd been seeing all night.

Muffling a gasp against her fist, Hermione couldn't help feeling sympathetic. Obviously more was going on than just a horrible disposition. She felt a swell of curiosity about this enigma of a man.

Nosily she trailed after him as he escaped Molly's clutches. Sometimes the people he talked to managed to draw out a smile. She got the sense that he was generally well-liked and that his bad mood worried people because they cared.

Despite a natural charisma, she could now recognize the sadness seeping out between his pauses, causing him to irritably lash out when people pressed him too hard. Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for him, though she still didn't feel it excused his rudeness and public intoxication at Gabrielle's party. She wished she could help him leave, but he unfortunately seemed to know too many of the people hanging around the exits. He'd already tried to sneak out unsuccessfully several times.

Unable to watch his unhappiness any longer, or that of her cousins in response, Hermione had an idea. Slipping away to the back of the house, she found the aversion charm on the hallway outside the library door still going strong from when she'd placed it earlier. No one had managed to overcome it and invade the room. Good.

Turning back, she stumbled to a halt when she found the green-eyed man standing in the middle of the hallway, arms loose but away from his sides to block her from walking by. "You look like a woman with a secret," he drawled, leaning against the wall with a false relaxation that failed to hide the sharpness of his eyes or the danger in his faint smile. "You've been staring at me all night. Why?"


	5. Hermione Shares a Violet Mint Morpho

 

_Turning back, she stumbled to a halt when she found the green-eyed man standing in the middle of the hallway, arms loose but away from his sides to block her from walking by. “You look like a woman with a secret,” he drawled, leaning against the wall with a false relaxation that failed to hide the sharpness of his eyes. “You’ve been staring at me all night. Why?”_

“You’re drunk, obviously unhappy, and have been acting very rude to everyone,” Hermione replied smartly. “It was hard not to notice. I was about to retreat into the library to get away from the party for a while. You should come with me and take a break.”

“So I can be rude to you instead?” he asked with a strange look.

“More like rude to me again, but better me than the few guests you’ve left unmolested,” she quipped as she stepped back and held open the library door. “Well? Are you coming or not? I’m resetting the aversion charm as soon as I close the door.”

Quirking his lips, he walked forward. “With such a compelling invitation, how can I resist?”

As soon as he stepped into the library, Hermione shut the door and made sure to reactivate her charm. She didn’t want to be interrupted for the next few minutes. When she turned back around, she found him making himself at home on one of the padded benches.

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” Hermione said, deciding to embrace her British side and just speak bluntly. “I know why I had to come, but what about you?”

He examined her face intently for a moment, though she wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Finally he broke the silence. “My friend Ron came to my house and dragged me here. He knows I’m fond of Gabrielle and he didn’t want me to spend the night alone and brooding.”

“You look like the sort who does that a lot.” At his quizzical look, she elaborated, “Brooding. It usually goes with the dark hair and the scars.”

Snorting, he said, “How awful to think that I’ve become such a cliché. Please don’t mention it to my father. He’s sure to stage an intervention.”

“Do you need an intervention?” Hermione asked carefully.

The amusement drained from his face. “No, I need a miracle,” he said lowly. Then he shook his head and added with forced lightness, “Too bad my dad’s out of those.”

Harry didn’t know why he felt so comfortable talking to this curly-haired woman, but she was a strange mixture of straightforward talk and soft brown eyes. For some reason, the thought popped into his mind that she looked like someone who gave good hugs. He must still be affected by the alcohol. He had a better chance of getting slapped than of getting a hug in his current state.

Scrutinizing him keenly, she reached down and took something out of the pouch at her waist. “I’m all out of miracles, but I can give you a chocolate,” she said, holding out a purple foil wrapped confection. “When life gets too bitter, I like to close my eyes and focus on the taste of something wonderful to remind myself that small bits of goodness still exist in this world.”

Picking it up from her hand, he felt his eyebrow go up as he recognized the wrapper. “You have expensive tastes. This is a very exclusive chocolatier.”

Charmed, he smiled as he turned the chocolate over, waiting for the elegant script naming the flavor to appear as it cycled through a color spectrum of palest lilac to deep plum. The faint pattern on the paper morphed slowly back and forth between a geometric print and a field of flowers. After a few seconds the words, ‘Violet Mint Morpho’ appeared. Harry huffed in surprise. “I didn’t know anyone under the age of forty actually ate violet mints.”

“Never mind, you don’t have to eat it,” she said in a tight voice, reaching forward to take it back.

Before she could touch it, Harry pulled it close. “No, I want it. Sorry, I was just expressing my surprise. The flavor thing is an ongoing joke with my dad.”

Opening the wrapper, he placed the chocolate into his mouth. Silky smooth milk chocolate began dissolving on his tongue. As he rolled it in his mouth, the flavor deepened, slowly becoming richer and more bittersweet. Harry couldn’t help but close his eyes in enjoyment. The earthy cacao flavor reached a crescendo. Then the thick violet crème slipped out, coating his tongue for a moment with a gentle, refined comfort. Sighing softly, he blinked open his eyes and looked at her softly.

Smiling ruefully, she grabbed his hand and turned it over, pulling his arm towards her. Harry didn’t think to resist until she reached forward with her other hand and slapped something on his inner wrist. He felt a pinch and then something wet oozed out onto his skin.

Betrayed, Harry snarled as he twisted his hand out of her grip, grabbed her wrist with an iron grip, and pulled sharply, knocking her off balance towards him. Then he grabbed her other arm and twisted it up behind her back as he yanked her forward to sit straddling his legs.

“I-,” she began to say, but Harry cut her off.

“Shut. Up,” he ordered through gritted teeth. Harry hadn’t been this angry in a long time. Despite their disastrous first meeting, he’d really started to like her. The feeling of betrayal stung deeply. Usually he distrusted unknown women trying to give him things, but he’d let her in underneath his guard. He should have known better.

Quickly he cast a spell to dispel any glamours, but her face barely changed. Of course, that didn’t rule out polyjuice. Then he cast a spell to detect the five most common poisons, but his amulet stayed cold. His two spells only took a few seconds. She stayed still in his hold, like a small mouse caught between the paws of a gryphon.

“OK, what did you just do?” he finally demanded with a growl.

Harry never should have let his guard down with her just because he found her appealing. Just because she intrigued him didn’t mean she wasn’t a threat. Some of his most dangerous foes had been women. Hadn’t Bellatrix Lestrange taught him better than this? He had been stupid. His stomach lurched and his head throbbed, reacting to the potion on his wrist. Harry grimaced.

“Please let go, that hurts,” she gasped quietly, squirming in his hold.

“Good,” he snapped. If he didn’t get from her what she’d just done, he might be dead soon. He intended her to follow shortly. He wanted answers.

She flinched, but then gritted her teeth and stoically swallowed her protests, hiding her vulnerability behind velvet brown eyelashes. She didn’t bother with another complaint. Harry felt impressed despite himself. His admiration made him feel even madder.

Sweat began beading on her skin as the temperature rose along with his temper. He didn’t bother to pull his powers back. He may have resented it at first, but this remnant of the final battle and his increased magical power no longer bothered him. Influencing the environment with his emotions had served him well in fights before. It also worked great as an intimidation factor. A drop of sweat plopped off her chin and onto his thumb wrapped around her wrist

“If you’ll let me open my hand, I can show you the ampule,” she said carefully. “It’s just a sober-up potion, promise.”

Still suspicious, he relaxed his hold enough to pull her arm forward. He noted that dispelling her glamour had revealed a large raised scar on her forearm. "Where did you get that?"

"I can't say," she said, but she didn’t resist otherwise, just opened her hand. Inside was a broken potion capsule. 

Leaning forward, Harry sniffed at the blue liquid still staining her hands. The color and sharp smell were familiar, along with the oily sheen of the catalyst to assist absorption through the skin, though the hint of orange oil was unusual. Nevertheless, maybe she was telling the truth. It didn't look dangerous.

Harry looked back at her face, silently demanding an explanation.

Taking a slow breath, she stared back into his eyes unflinchingly. “I don’t know you, your problems, or your reasons for being drunk, but Fleur and Gabrielle are my family, whom I love. They care about you and your behavior. You said that you were fond of Gabrielle, but you are making her sad and ruining her party. She doesn’t deserve that.”

As the potion circulated through his system, Harry began to feel more clearheaded. He also began to feel guilty. Her words hit home.

Harry released his grip on her arms. “You’re right,” he said quietly, “she doesn’t.”

She brought her arms forward into her lap. Surreptitiously she rubbed at the red marks on her pale skin. They’d probably bruise. Harry felt a little guilty about that too. However, she didn't back down or run away.

Instead, she stayed sitting on his lap and looked him square in the eye. “Now,” she said firmly, “you have three options: one - you can sober up and return to the party in a more polite, even if not more cheerful, mood; two – you can hide out here in the library and I’ll leave you a book and find you some snacks; or three – you can escape out the window and go get drunk again somewhere else.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene came to me three years ago, though I’d inserted my RK characters at the time. I wrote it down and abandoned it. When I found it recently, I decided to make a larger story with it. Then this crazy Harry Potter mystery romance blossomed beneath my fingers. I hope you enjoy continuing along with me to the end! Please let me know what you think of it so far! Will Harry choose option 1, 2, or 3?


	6. Harry Makes a Choice

 

_Instead, she stayed sitting on his lap and looked him square in the eye. “Now,” she said firmly, “you have three options: one - you can sober up and return to the party in a more polite, even if not more cheerful, mood; two – you can hide out here in the library and I’ll leave you a book and find you some snacks; or three – you can escape out the window and go get drunk again somewhere else.”_

As the alcohol dissipated more and more from his system, Harry looked down at the brazen woman sitting on his lap. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. This really was a ludicrous situation.

“You are certainly a surprise - a rather humbling one - but, on further consideration, a delightful one as well,” he confessed honestly, bringing his wand up to put it away.

“Where did you have that?” she asked in surprise.

“Between my third and fourth finger pointed at the base of your spine,” Harry said starkly. “I hope you realize that no matter what your motives, that was a very stupid and dangerous thing you just did. I could have really hurt you.”

“Oh,” she said faintly after a hard gulp, staring down at his wand for a moment. Then she looked up with a sheepish smile, “but it worked and you are sober now, correct?”

Sheathing his wand, he shrugged self-consciously. “I'm getting there. The potion worked as advertised. Did you brew it yourself?”

Pride straightened her spine as she shifted on his lap. “Indeed, potion making is a hobby of mine. I have an ancestor who left the family several fascinating journals on the subject.”

“I’ll have to get the recipe, if you’re willing to share it. It worked better than the one I used the last time I tried to drown my sorrows in a bottle of fire whiskey.” Then Harry realized how that made him sound.

Flushing, he blurted out, “It’s not a habit of mine, I assure you. I’m not a drunk. I don’t even really ever drink alcohol. The last time was years ago. That’s why I didn’t recognize the feeling of the potion in my system.”

A dimple briefly flashed in her cheek as she suppressed an amused smile. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said playfully.

The flash of humor lit her face for just a moment, transforming it into something arresting. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. No, she wasn’t a blond beauty like the Delacour sisters. Her features were too strong, her lips too lush, and her chin too stubborn for their delicate prettiness. Nevertheless, somehow when you put all the parts together you got someone absolutely stunning.

With her still sitting so close on his lap, Harry could see all of the details that distance and drunkenness had once hidden. Small brown freckles covered her nose and cheeks like cinnamon sprinkled on fresh cream. Her front teeth looked very straight and white, but just a tad bit bigger than the rest of her teeth. They matched her full lips, which had a natural dusky rose color that other witches needed cosmetics or glamours to achieve. Sweat had dried the downy hairs in front of her ears into corkscrew curls that bounced slightly when she tilted her head, furrowed her brow, and sent him a curious smile at his close scrutiny.

And she had brown eyes. But her eyes were so more than just brown. Cloud gray ringed irises the color of afternoon sunlight gleaming off the handle of a broom in flight. Each iris contained shards of tiny caramel and copper stars shooting towards the midnight sky of her rapidly dilating pupils. Strength, compassion, and curiosity burned in their brown depths like the warm scent of a banked fire in the forest air. Harry could get lost in those eyes.

In fact, he found himself wanting to as she shifted beneath his examination and blushed the quick red of a startled warbler taking flight. A delicious scent wafted up to his nose as she shifted nervously again and bit her lip. The warm, solid weight of her sitting on his legs felt good, but distant. Harry wanted her closer.

Although he couldn’t blame the alcohol on what he did next, perhaps it was the still surging adrenalin. _How else to explain this feeling of intense connection and yearning_? It unsettled him. Yet now that he’d really looked at her, he couldn’t unsee her.

So Harry gave in to the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Placing a hand carefully behind her neck, he pulled, bringing her flush against his body. Gasping against his lips, she froze at the touch of his mouth on hers, but she didn’t push him away.

Ever so carefully, Harry kept the pressure of his mouth and hands gossamer light. His fingertips feathered up her arm, over her shoulder, and along her neck until his thumb could drift across the smooth skin of her face. He gently caressed down her jaw, and then with the slightest of pressure tilted her chin up just a bit more into the subtle slant of his mouth. Harry kept his lips tender and coaxing, ready to let go if she gave any sign of disgust or dismay.

However, at her lack of response he started to feel like he was taking advantage. Harry lifted off his hands regretfully. He steeled himself to back off and apologize.

Abruptly she relaxed against his chest with a shuddering sigh. Returning his soft kiss, she opened her mouth. Elated, Harry smiled into her mouth. Her hands slid up his chest and across his shoulders, clinging.

Gradually the kiss deepened as she pressed forward and rose up on his lap, forcing his head to tilt back as he chased after her mouth. Her tongue licked along the seam of his lips and then retreated. Harry shivered and chased after it.

They kissed languorously and deeply, then fast and shallow. She seemed to be enthusiastically cataloguing his mouth and reactions, like a student studying her favorite subject. He found it strangely arousing to be the focus of her attentions. She moaned softly when he nipped her lower lip.

Intrigued, Harry thrust his fingers in her curly hair, tipped her head back, and leaned forward to begin sucking kisses down the side of her neck. He could become addicted to the salty taste of her skin. Her little shivery responses drove him wild.

“Ah!” she gasped, arching into his touch. Harry felt his blood heat even hotter at her response. When his lips reached her collar, he tugged the cloth aside to explore the delightful dip of her shoulder and the freckles sprinkled across the curve of her milky clavicle.

Suddenly she jolted out of his arms and off his lap, stumbling backwards until she fetched up hard against the wall. Disoriented, Harry half came off his seat to grasp after her, but she held out her hand in sharp warning. Grabbing his arousal by the throat, Harry forced himself to stop. He sank back down onto his seat and placed his hands carefully on his thighs.

“Stop,” she said shakily from lips swollen juicy red from his kisses. He noticed pink patches along on her neck and cheeks from the scrape of his facial scruff. Panting lightly, Harry forced himself to stay seated and tried to calm his racing heart and galloping libido.

Hermione had just shared the most mind-blowing kiss of her life with a man she didn’t even know the name of. He’d insulted her at first sight. She’d tricked him into becoming sober.

_What was she doing?_

“You,” she panted, “you’re barely sober and you think I’m the ugly one in the family, remember?”

“I never said ugly,” he frowned, “and I was a drunken fool. Your features are too strong for mere pretty, but flushed with emotion or lit by a smile, even a fool like me must admit that you are stunning.”

Hermione swallowed and blushed, desperately wanting to believe his words but not sure that she should. “I don’t even know your name,” she argued, “and since you haven’t said mine even once, I’m not sure you know mine either.”

A strangely pleased glitter entered his green eyes before he said with abrupt challenge, “You can just call me Harry. I know that your cousin called you Hermione, but I didn’t catch your family name, it’s true.”

“Oh, well,” Hermione let her training take over and gave a quick curtsy, “it is a pleasure to meet you, Harry. My name is Hermione, Hermione Jean Granger.”

“Yes, a definite pleasure, Hermione Jean Granger,” Harry rejoined with a quick glance at her lips before looking back up into her eyes with an inviting and mischievous smile.

Standing up slowly, he reached towards her. Hermione tensed and caught her breath, unsure of his intentions or if she even wanted to resist his intentions. His fingers ghosted along her ear and into her upswept hair. 

A second later, her curls tumbled down around her shoulders in wild disarray. Her frantic fingers managed to catch one falling enameled comb, but her search for the other came up empty. When she looked up, it was only to see Harry twirl it quickly over the back of his fingers before secreting it inside the pocket of his robes.

“That’s mine,” Hermione objected.

“Not anymore,” Harry smiled archly before putting his hands nonchalantly into his pockets. “Though I have plans for the negotiation of its release.”

Hermione blew out a breath in exasperation. She pulled back part of her hair and thrust her one comb back in so she didn’t lose it. Then she abruptly demanded, “Why did you kiss me?”

Harry looked down and hesitated. Then he glanced back up at her with those haunting green eyes and unfairly long lashes. “I was taking your advice about closing my eyes and tasting something wonderful.”

Opening and closing her mouth silently, Hermione didn’t know quite how to respond.

A predatory look grew in his eyes. Harry stalked forward. Hermione liked that look a little too much, but she wasn’t anyone’s prey. Her fingertips tingled with the urge to reach out and bury her hands in his hair again, to smooth down the planes of his muscular back and scrape back up with her fingernails. Before she could make up her mind, something in his robes chimed four times.

Sighing, his focus swung from stalking Hermione to the communication amulet he pulled out of his pocket. He stared at it for a moment in annoyed consideration, but didn’t open it. She could see the oily sheen of missed messages from where she stood.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Hermione asked with curiosity.

It chimed again. Harry flipped it open. “What news?” he asked abruptly, running one hand through his hair.

“Why good evening, Harry. Thank you for finally answering on my fourth and final attempt. What a lovely summer evening we’re having, isn’t it?” chided a sardonic voice with a lilt of aristocracy. It sounded slightly tinny through the amulet, but still clear.

“Do you have any news on the case, Draco?” Harry impatiently asked again.

His friend Draco’s sigh was clearly audible. “If I did, it would have been the urgent chime, not the message chime. I also would have told you directly instead of messing with you. That’s how our truce goes, remember?”

Harry didn’t reply, just turned to face away from Hermione. However, since he didn’t tell her to leave or put up a privacy ward, she had no compunction about eavesdropping. She had a feeling that this news might relate to his former state of drunkenness. Hermione held very still so as not to be noticed and sent away.

Draco sighed again, though this time with what sounded like more sadness and less irritation. “I don’t have any news about Teddy. If something comes up, you’ll probably hear about it before I do. Everyone knows to contact you first, even though I’m technically the lead on the case.”

_Just who was Teddy?_ Hermione wondered.


	7. Someone Trips Hermione’s Blood Ward

 

_Draco sighed again, though this time with what sounded like more sadness and less irritation. “I don’t have any news about Teddy. If something comes up, you’ll probably hear about it before I do. Everyone knows to contact you first.”_

_Just who was Teddy?_ _Hermione wondered._

Then Draco cleared his throat. “I’m calling to let you know that the Deputy Minister has arrived at Bill and Fleur Weasley’s party and wishes to see you. Since I wouldn’t be caught dead at a party attended by the extended Weasley family, no matter how delightful the French branch of the Delacours may be, I am passing on the message as ordered and washing my hands of the matter. I have better things to do with my time than make sure you’re actually relaxing on your enforced leave.”

“Gee thanks, Draco. It’s always good to know you care,” Harry said sarcastically.

 “I’d like to say I don’t and hang up, but further duty compels me to remind you that my mother still expects you for tea next week. If you don’t come, she’ll make me regret it,” Draco said. “Then she’ll make you regret it. You should probably try to get some sleep before then if you don’t want to leave the meeting agreeing to all of her little schemes to marry off your father for the sake of perpetuating the male family name and ancestral bloodline. Mother even has dossiers on the ladies in question. She’s organized them into colored folders. It’s rather terrifying.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Harry groaned.

“I only wish,” Draco sighed. “But we have a few more days until then, so let’s stop talking about it and maybe the folders will get lost in a happy accident.”

Harry turned so his face was in profile to Hermione. She could see his half-smile when he said, “I’m sure my Dad would help pay for one of those happy accidents.”

“Don’t tempt me, Harry. You’re supposed to be the good one and I’m the bad one, remember? I can’t be expected to stop being bad whenever you feel like having a lark,” Malfoy complained.

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that,” Harry said lightly.

“You’re a menace. I’m off to find my own amusement, so go talk to the Deputy Minister and then find something at that party to remind you that life’s worth living again,” Malfoy ordered.

Harry turned to meet Hermione’s eyes. “I’ve already taken care of that one,” he said softly. She couldn’t help the blush that flooded her cheeks.

“For your sake,” Malfoy continued, “I hope you aren’t just fobbing me off. Talk to your father, come to tea next week. I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Ta,” he said, and then the amulet chimed a low tone to indicate that the line had been closed.

Tucking the amulet back inside his robes, Harry sighed. “Duty calls,” he muttered. “I’m sorry to leave you, but I really do have to check in with him.”

Looking up at Hermione again, he gave her a half smile. “I’ll make sure to apologize to your cousins on the way for my behavior.”

Pleased, but not wanting to be too obvious about it, Hermione tilted her head to the side and teased, “What about everyone else you offended tonight?”

Harry shrugged. “They can go hang. If they really have that much of a problem with something unpolitic I said, then they can confront me about it later. I’ll apologize to Fleur and Gabrielle and I apologized to you. Everyone else can wait.”

Then he paused and looked up sheepishly. “I did apologize to you, didn’t I?”

“Not explicitly,” Hermione said carefully.

“Ah, well then,” Harry walked forward and took one of her hands in his. “I am deeply sorry I insulted you when we were first introduced. I took out my bad mood on you and acted like a drunken bore. If my actions of the last few minutes haven’t made it abundantly clear, I find you not only very attractive, but also extremely intriguing.”

Shifting guiltily, he added, “I’m also sorry for the bruises I can see on your arms from where I grabbed you. However,” he pointed a finger, “I hope you take it as a lesson not to ambush other people with surprise potions. You could have been seriously hurt, or even worse.”

“On the other hand, I refuse to apologize for kissing you,” he cleared his throat and looked up into her eyes, “because that was brilliant.” Harry grinned and squeezed her hand once before letting it go and stepping back.

“Duty calls. Work may keep me busy for a while, but you will definitely be seeing me again, Hermione. I’ll be in touch,” he promised. Giving her a firm nod, he turned and swept from the room with one last backward glance.

Placing her hands on her burning cheeks, Hermione ordered herself to calm down. Using the dark window as a mirror, she repaired her hair as best she could. She thought about sitting down to read one of her books, but she didn’t have the ability to concentrate on reading right now after what had just happened. She needed a distraction so she wouldn’t keep playing what just happened over and over again in her mind.

Slipping out of the door, she decided to creep upstairs and borrow some bruise balm from Fleur’s bathroom to cover up the marks from her ill-considered (although ultimately successful) ambush. Maybe if she was lucky, Harry’s business would take less time than he thought. Then they could continue their conversation… and maybe the snogging too.

As she walked up the stairs, Hermione suddenly felt a tug on the blood ward she'd placed on her nieces’ door. Her focus narrowed as panic spiked through her brain. Picking up the hem of her robe, Hermione ran for their room. Flinging herself around the corner, she saw the woman she'd talked to earlier, Parvati, shifting from foot to foot anxiously in the corridor in front of their door

"What do you think you're doing?" Hermione demanded in a threatening growl, wand pointed and three different curses on the tip of her tongue

Parvati jumped, "Oh! Hermione, perhaps you can help me. The bathroom downstairs is full and I'm dying. Ron said there was one up here." She shifted uncomfortably again.

"It's the third door down," Hermione said shakily after a moment, trying to crank back her paranoia. She waited for the woman to disappear behind the bathroom door before she slipped into her nieces' room.

Inside everything was dark, quiet, and still. You couldn’t hear the party at all. The two girls slept peacefully in their beds. A shiny line of drool trailed down Dominique’s cheek and the hair at her temples was sweaty. Victoire snored softly. Touching each child’s silky blond head softly, Hermione turned and went back out into the hallway.

Leaning against the wall, Hermione tried to push down the adrenalin and vengeful urge to hex Parvati for scaring her. She was jumping at shadows. Everything was fine. If she didn’t get ahold of herself, Fleur would speak to her parents and she’d get shipped back to the Institution in France ‘for her own good.’

Parvati came out of the bathroom, smiled awkwardly, and went back downstairs. Hermione kept watch until she disappeared from view. Then she increased the strength of the aversion ward on the staircase. That done, she forced herself to turn and walk away from the girls’ doorway.

Going into the bathroom, she pulled out the bruise balm. "Oh honey," the mirror sighed, "whoever left that handprint on your arm is no good. Just because you aren't a gorgeous blond like the rest of the family, doesn't mean you have to put up with an abusive man."

Smoothing the bruise balm over both arms, Hermione breathed in through her nose and didn't bother looking up. "Again, not interested in your opinions, especially when you have no idea what really happened or what you're talking about."

Hermione sighed gratefully as the balm started healing her skin, reducing the painful throbbing. She’d stopped noticing the discomfort once Harry started to kiss her. It hadn’t come back until Harry had left the room.

Although she wouldn't go so far as to say that she’d deserved the bruises, but in retrospect, she felt very grateful that she hadn’t been hurt worse. She’d been foolish. What had made her grab Harry like that, especially after she’d already noticed how on edge he seemed? How dangerous?

She should have just openly offered him the sober-up potion. He’d already started softening up with the chocolate. In the future, she’d avoid ambushing a dangerous stranger like that.

Adjusting the fall of her red robes where they’d twisted slightly around her neck from Harry’s attentions, she couldn’t help but feel traitorous warmth bubbling up from her chest. It had been dangerous and risky, but she couldn’t fault the outcome. Her daring had worked out quite well this evening. The kissing especially had been a delightful surprise. Hermione’s lips twitched into a smug smile.

The mirror harrumphed. "Fine, but at least do something with those curls. That hairstyle is worse than the last one. Anyone who tells you otherwise probably wants something."

Smile disappearing, Hermione ripped the enameled comb out of her hair, thrust it into her pouch, and turned to glare at the mirror. "I am perilously close to breaking you _'on accident_.' This is your last warning."

The mirror “harrumphed” again before fogging over, but at least this time it kept quiet. Hermione was done. She'd say goodnight to Fleur and Gabrielle and then she was leaving. She still had work tomorrow, after all. Throwing back her shoulders, she turned and marched downstairs to rejoin the party.

 


	8. Harry Leaves the Party

Harry first apologized to the Delacour sisters. Then he tracked down the Deputy Minister, who was holding court in the living room and munching on a celery stick. "Reporting as ordered, My Lord," Harry said smartly, practically clicking his heels to make sure the mockery came across.

The Deputy Minister swallowed and waved away the people he was talking to. They dispersed with good grace and a few claps on the back in sympathy for Harry. "I'm happily surprised that my orders worked, _my Lord_ ,” Sirius said sardonically. “I didn't actually expect you to be here." Sirius wiped his fingers off on his napkin.

Raising an eyebrow, Harry said, "You mean I could have ignored the poking from both Ron and Draco? I wish I would have known that earlier."

Sirius shrugged, "But then I wouldn't have gotten to hear the tales of your blunt put-downs of the sycophants that like to buzz around at parties. I hope you didn't offend anyone irreparably, but really, I'm more worried that you've been here for over an hour and not been seen to eat a single morsel of party food. It’s quite tasty, if you’re wondering. The macarons are to die for."

"That's really what you're worried about?" Harry asked skeptically.

His father looked at him soberly for a moment before answering softly, "Well, that and the fact that you were apparently drunk tonight. I know you haven't touched a bottle in over five years because it reminds you too much of your uncle and his rages. I checked in with ‘Dromeda before coming over here, so I understand your urge to drown yourself in drink, but despite all my wishing I can't do anything more for Teddy. I can, however, exercise my rights as your adoptive father to fuss over your eating." Sirius gave Harry a playful smile that failed to hide the pain in his eyes.

Harry shrugged and looked away, not sure what to say.

Clearing his throat, Sirius said, "You don't look like you need the sober-up potion I had fetched, but try these," he picked up a plate from the table and handed it to Harry. "They're called ants on a log. Fleur read about them in some muggle book she got from a cousin."

Harry watched as a line of raisins marched back and forth across a peanut butter slathered celery stick. The peanut butter looked like a tree trunk, complete with little knots and whirls in the bark, except for where the ants left trails of little footprints in the soft peanut butter. It didn't look anything like his vague memory of a classmate's lunchbox back in elementary school. He wondered if the book-giving cousin in question was Hermione. She seemed the type to give out books.

Shrugging, Harry picked the ants on a log up and crunched through a bite. It tasted good. Suddenly ravenous, he remembered that he hadn't had anything but fire whisky since breakfast. Harry shoved the rest of the celery stick into his mouth and turned to survey the nearby food table.

Smiling smugly, Sirius squeezed Harry's shoulder warmly and then turned to lean back against the wall. After refilling his plate, Harry joined him. For the next few minutes, Harry ate in peace. He didn't bother commenting on the glares Sirius turned on anyone who looked like they might want to interrupt father and son for a chat.

In between taking bites, Harry said, “I hope you’ve been eating something besides celery and macarons yourself. I know I’ve been distracted with this case, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t watched you or listened to the gossip. Ever since you took the new job as Deputy Minister you’ve been running yourself ragged. I don’t want you to make yourself sick.” He lowered his plate and examined his dad worriedly.

Waving off his concern, Sirius said, “My assistant is a real dragon. She makes sure I take breaks and keeps a carafe of tea and hot chocolate on hand for when I feel a little unbalanced. I’m doing fine. Your partner has also taken to dropping by to deliver the summary reports for the DMLE in person. Coincidentally, he brings snacks that I always find myself eating despite myself.” He looked disgruntled. Harry laughed.

Shrugging, Sirius gave a half-smile and said, “He tries to bully me into taking care of myself and I sometimes let him. Most likely he just wants me to get fat and ugly.”

Harry chuckled. “Despite your strange relationship, Draco cares about you a lot. He’s not just my partner, he’s also your cousin and looks to you as something of a patriarch.” Finally finished eating, Harry used his wand to hover his plate over to the trash.

“Bah,” Sirius waved his hand, “he just doesn’t like all the attention I get from the ladies he’s trying to impress. That and he doesn’t want his mother’s matrimonial planning to turn from me to him. Next time he gets too pushy, I’m going to tell his mother about all of the well-bred young ladies taking internships with the ministry this year.”

Raising his eyebrow, Harry warned, “I hope you aren’t thinking of Gabrielle Delacour.”

Sirius shook his head. “No, I like her too much. She’s been through enough trauma already without inflicting someone like Draco on her as a life partner. First the Tri-Wizard Tournament and then that mess when she was 11. No, Gabrielle deserves someone without baggage and drama. Also someone more her own age and maturity,” he tilted his head thoughtfully, “though Fleur’s violent reaction would definitely keep Draco distracted enough to leave me in peace.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry warned. “I’ve finally got Draco broken in to be the perfect partner. I don’t want to have to train up another after he ends up in the hospital for six months. Although he could take Fleur in a street brawl now that he’s a professional auror, she’s too smart to confront him that way. She’d invite him to a genteel meeting over tea and then hex him when he reached for the clotted cream.” They chuckled together at the image and turned to look at their lovely hostess.

Despite the party starting to wind down, Fleur still looked perfect without a hair out of place. She stood near the open front door with her husband Bill. As they watched, Percy Weasley walked up to pay his respects. He had a stunning blond witch hanging off his arm. She looked a few years his senior, but not by much.

"I doubt Percy will keep a witch who looks like that for much longer," Sirius said softly to Harry.

"Seriously," Harry agreed.

"Of course I'm Sirius, that's why I said it," Sirius teased.

Harry groaned. "That joke is so old that not even the new interns laugh at it anymore. Don't you have any new material yet?"

Sirius just shrugged and smirked.

"Do you know who she is?" Harry asked, scratching his chin to hide his fond smile.

"Mmm," Sirius nodded. "She introduced herself to me earlier this week after a staff meeting. She's a French emigre named Prunellie Moreau. Gossip says that she moved here after living abroad for a few years. Supposedly she’s ambitious and has experience, but is having to work her way up from the bottom and resents it too. I have a feeling she'll date Percy just long enough to get in with his boss or someone powerful, and then she'll move on to bigger game. She certainly made it clear to me that she would welcome a private meeting after hours. A gorgeous woman like that is tempting, but I decided that she’d be more trouble than she’s worth."

Just then, Augusta Longbottom marched up to the snack table. Sirius turned to speak with her. The two soon became embroiled in a conversation about a new bill making its way through the Wizagamot. Since Harry didn’t have an opinion on the topic, he stepped back and grabbed a bright blue macaron with chocolate hazelnut filling. The macaron tasted better than he expected. Harry grabbed two more.

As he chewed, Harry found himself watching Percy smugly showing off his date to his relatives. The two Frenchwomen, Prunellie and Fleur, seemed to be sizing each other up unfavorably. When Percy dropped his date's arm to lean forward and gesture to his sister-in-law, Prunellie’s smile thinned. Fleur's lips twitched derisively in response. She turned away from Prunellie dismissively and focused her attention on Percy.

A few seconds later, Gabrielle came up next to her sister. Greeting Percy, the young blond held both hands out with a smile.  Instead of giving her a hug, he held one hand out officiously. She shook his hand limply and then stepped back awkwardly.

But then something strange happened.

When Gabrielle and Percy clumsily greeted each other, Prunellie’s face abruptly turned white, then purple-red. Harry leaned forward slightly to better see what was going on. An ugly look flashed through Prunellie’s eyes and she twitched. Then her face resumed a mask of bland prettiness.

From his position Harry could see that Prunellie had her wand out and held down against her leg. No one else seemed to have noticed. She took a step away from Percy and towards Gabrielle.

Uneasy, Harry stepped away from the snack table. Prunellie wasn’t easy to read, but her emotion seemed like more than just jealousy. Something didn’t feel right.

Suddenly out of nowhere appeared Hermione Granger, magnificent in red with her curls bouncing loose across her shoulders. Stubborn chin leading the way, Hermione shoved in front of Gabrielle and glared at Prunellie. She had a dangerously protective look on her face. Harry could almost imagine a jeweled stave with razor-sharp tip brandished threateningly in her hands. She would have made a magnificent Gryffindor.

_But what was going on?_ Harry wondered.

Everyone else near the door looked equally confused as the two women exchanged sharp words Harry was too far away to make out. Gabrielle stumbled back as Percy advanced angrily on Hermione, but Ms. Moreau halted her boyfriend with a light touch on his arm. Then she turned to Hermione and drawled something with a cruel smirk on her face.

Hermione froze. She got the oddest look on her face. Fleur stepped in between the two women and snapped something, but Hermione didn’t even seem to react. It took a few seconds, but finally Hermione looked away with a grimace. She wiped her nose. Harry thought he saw a smudge of red on one knuckle.

Unwilling to stand back any longer and dying from curiosity, Harry pushed away from the wall. However, before he could walk over to intrude, a familiar hand grabbed at him insistently. Immediately he turned.

"Harry," Sirius whispered shakily, "I don’t feel very well. I think I just had a flashback to prison.” Stomach dropping, Harry anxiously grabbed his father’s arm, taking some of his weight.

“It’s been years since my last one. Maybe I have been working too hard or maybe I should’ve avoided that last log of ants," Sirius joked weakly. His golden skin looked pasty and sheened with sweat. His fingers trembled.

"Do I need to call a healer?" Harry asked with concern, moving even closer.

"No, just get me home without anyone noticing a problem. I don’t want the gossip," Sirius rasped quietly. "I’m sure I just need to rest and take a pepper-up potion. And a bit of chocolate. That always helps with the Dementor memories."

Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Harry saw a stiff-backed Percy leaving with his date on his arm. Hermione and Gabrielle were nowhere to be seen while Fleur and Bill stood talking together with pinched expressions on their faces. Torn, Harry made himself a promise to check up on Hermione later.

Turning back to his father, Harry reached into Sirius's cloak and pulled out his pouch of emergency potions. Harry had left his own at home on the table. “Let’s get something in you first,” Harry insisted.

Harry pulled out a pepper-up potion and a foil-wrapped chocolate, the same exclusive purple flavor as the one given to Harry by Hermione. He’d never seen anyone but the two of them with _violet mint morphos_. Harry wondered if they had any other similarities. He’d have to find out some other time. "Here Dad, take these first and then I'll side-apparate you home."

After only a few minutes, Sirius’ face gained some color and he stopped trembling. Harry stood in front of him so no one else would notice his weakness and start gossiping. Sirius hated any mention of the lingering damage from his incarceration in Dementor-infested Azkaban all of those years ago. He hadn’t had an episode in years, and the last time had been caused by the presence of an actual Dementor. Hopefully it really was just the stress and nothing more serious. More than one healer had remarked upon how Sirius was the only person on record to have survived over ten years of Dementor exposure without serious permanent mental and physical side-effects.

"Let's go, Harry. I think I’m steady enough to apparate home,” Sirius said softly.  The two of them walked into the back yard and disappeared with a quiet pop.


	9. Hermione Hears a Rumor

Monday morning, Hermione escaped from her problems by burying herself in a big book. She worked for the Department of Spell Recovery and Creation. As one of their researchers, she read through old family diaries and grimoires looking for forgotten spells to reintroduce or adapt.

They hadn’t allowed her over on the spell creation side yet, but Hermione had hopes for future advancement. For almost a decade she’d dreamed of being on the cutting edge of spell work. Some of her early supervisors back in France had said that she lacked creativity, but Hermione felt it was more about expectations. She didn’t feel the need to create weird and crazy spells just to prove it could be done, she wanted spells that were practical and useful. Flashy didn’t matter to Hermione.

Nevertheless, Hermione had ambitions. She refused to let anything hold her back. So far she’d done very well in spell recovery, researching dozens of old spells and making them work again. She planned on three to six months more at most to master the idiosyncrasy of British spell recovery and then she’d start seriously angling for transfer and advancement.

In France, she’d been the head of her department. Then she’d decided to take a demotion and move to Britain. Starting over had been going pretty well, at least until last night. She’d spent the night tossing and turning after what had happened at the party.

_But you aren’t thinking about that right now!_ she reminded herself. _Focus on your work._

Right now she had a particularly large tome from the Needlemont family that held several promising household and gardening spells. After copying down the instructions for each spell, Hermione made sure to jot down her ideas for cross-application. Sometimes the spells had too narrow of a focus to be useful hundreds of years after their creation, but other times she got lucky. She’d discovered the blood ward spell she’d used on her nieces’ door from an old book she’d bought at an estate sale in France.

Just this morning she’d found a spell called _Novum Stabilis_ to make barn stalls smell sweeter and fresher. With just a little tweaking, Hermione could see it working on Quidditch lockers and public dressing rooms too. She’d heard someone from the Department of Magical Sports complaining about the deeply entrenched smell of old sweat in locker rooms just last week.

Putting her hands on her lower back, Hermione arched and stretched. She deserved a break to celebrate her newest discovery. _Perhaps a scone and some pumpkin juice from the snack trolley?_ she mused as she stood up and left her office.

As she walked, she noticed her coworkers giving her weird looks over the tops of their books. A couple even stood up to peek at her through their doorways. Firming her bottom lip, Hermione tried to ignore it.

Some people resented her high success rate in discovering useful spells. They didn’t like her, but she refused to scrunch down so that the small-minded would feel less threatened by her talent and efforts. If it occasionally made her lonely, well, at least she always had her books.

Suddenly a pale blond head popped up next to Hermione. “I’d avoid the break room. The norspacks have been busy,” announced Luna Lovegood, one of the few coworkers who’d befriended Hermione in the six months she’d worked here.

Luna noticed things other people couldn’t or wouldn’t. Add that to a highly intelligent mind and a refusal to pander to the slow-witted or willfully ignorant, and you got a woman who people greatly misunderstood. Some even thought her crazy or dimwitted.

Hermione, however, had quickly realized that Luna was a genius. She just refused to lie about things. Luna also seemed to find it hard to remember that most people thought differently, so she sometimes forgot to mention things she thought were obvious.

A conversation with Luna usually started in the middle and forced you to catch up. It could be a lot of fun. On bad days though, it could be extremely frustrating. Nevertheless, Luna’s sly sense of humor, quick wit, genuine spirit, and loyalty helped to make her one of Hermione’s best friends. Hermione spent most of her free time with blonds here in Britain. She seemed destined to be a brown thistle in a sea of slender blond lilies.

You could force Luna to slow down and explain things, but Hermione always felt like a particularly slow student when she did. Nevertheless, sometimes it was necessary. “I just wanted a snack,” Hermione said slowly, “and what are norspacks again?”

“Nothing good for you, I’m afraid,” Luna said with a commiserating look. “No matter what happens, I’m still your friend. I don’t know if it’s true, but either way, I’m sorry.”

Before Hermione could rephrase her request for clarification, sometimes a necessity when speaking with Luna, a pair of red lips and a pink ear attached to a long, fleshy string shot into the middle of the hall with a snap. The lips almost immediately began shouting. “Lovegood, get back in here and explain this new spell for normal people before I have to break out my antacids again!” The ear waited for Luna’s acknowledgement before the string retreated like a snapped rubber band.

Sighing, Luna turned to go, but then she paused and looked back. “Someone sent you flowers,” she said with a sad frown. She gave Hermione a quick hug and then glided away into her manager’s office.

Blinking in confusion, Hermione shook her head at Luna’s back. Hermione still really wanted that snack, but she’d learned that ignoring Luna’s advice, no matter how nonsensical, often lead to disaster. Sighing, she made a stop in the restroom and then walked back to her office. Hopefully the problem in the breakroom would resolve itself by lunch.

But if someone really had sent her flowers, who could it be? Would Harry have tracked her down that quickly? She’d have to reciprocate, but, she suddenly realized with a blush, it might be difficult without his last name. She felt foolish for not realizing he’d left that detail off of their introduction. _What was it about that man that made her act like an idiot?_ _How could she not have noticed the lack of a last name?_

When Hermione reached her office, she found the secretary just leaving. As always, Arran Mawhinney wore a sour frown and a set of very conservative tweed robes. Since today was Monday, he wore brown. Every week he dressed in the same order: brown, black, gray, tan, and navy blue on Fridays.

Cocking her head to the side, Hermione asked with level politeness, “Can I help you, Arran?”

The older man had never liked her for some reason, had in fact actively sabotaged her work the first few weeks, but ever since Hermione had dyed his favorite office supplies in hot-pink zepard print and made his chair groan and whine like a dying horse each time Arran sat down, both spells no one could figure out how to remove without Hermione’s help (or her secret conspirators the Weasley twins), they’d reached an uneasy truce. Hermione agreed to leave his office alone and he stopped impeding Hermione’s mail and dropping her work requests to the bottom of the manager’s to-do list.

Arran smirked, immediately making Hermione wary. “Little miss know-it-all Granger, strutting around acting like you’re better than the rest of us. I always knew you were mental, so this comes as no real surprise,” he jeered with a vicious sort of glee.

Hermione reared back, “Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“Your little stay in the psych ward in France, of course. Everyone’s talking about it and poor, crazy little Granger,” Arran said with obviously false sympathy, closely watching Hermione for her reaction to the news.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, but kept the rest of her features still through sheer force of will. She refused to give this man any more satisfaction.

The secretary turned up his nose. “You didn’t think you’d be able to keep it hidden forever, did you? I suppose someone must feel sorry for you, since I had to deliver the flowers, but don’t expect the rest of us to be so understanding. You know how the boss hates scandal, so you’d better watch out. You probably won’t be working here for very much longer.” Done delivering his threat, and realizing Hermione wasn’t going to give him any more fodder for the gossip mill, Arran smugly turned on his heel, brown tweed robes flapping dramatically, and strutted back to his desk.

Stumbling into her office, Hermione closed the door and leaned against it. She didn’t want this to be happening. Not now. _Didn’t she have enough to worry about?_ she mentally wailed, on the verge of hysteria.

Hermione concentrated on breathing slowly, trying to keep from hyperventilating. Having a breakdown wouldn’t help. She’d kept things together last night and had even managed to go through a normal routine this morning as if nothing bad was happening. She could control herself now. Clamping down on her emotions with an iron grip, she moved to her desk and sat down with great precision.

In the middle of her the desk sat a gray vase bursting with a beautiful duet of purple and yellow flowers. A chocolate bar stood up in the middle of the arrangement. For a very brief moment, Hermione felt a trickle of warmth at the thought of Harry. She didn’t see any message, but he had said he’d be in touch and the flowers did look unusually unique. _Maybe he was trying to impress her after their bad start yesterday?_

But then she looked at the flowers again, really looked, and her mind went _click click click_. Hermione’s stomach lurched. The blood in her veins turned to ice.

They weren’t from Harry after all. He wouldn’t send her a message like this. Only one person would.

The bar of chocolate had _Toujours_ written in elegant silver script that pulsed like a heartbeat across the black wrapper. _Toujours_ meant ‘forever’ in French. Surrounding the chocolate on both sides were blossoms of nightshade and rue. The purple nightshade flowers symbolized poisonous silence. It was also knows as belladonna and had poisonous roots and leaves. The yellow rue flowers symbolized everlasting sorrow and suffering. Put together, they wished her poisonous, never-ending silence and eternal sorrow.

Hermione felt her lip tremble. She stilled it with an angry scowl. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Whipping out her wand, she blasted the flower arrangement off of her desk. Then she blasted it again and again until only soot and the foul stench of burning petals remained. Eyes narrowed, she glanced back at the notes on her desk and then turned back to cast her newly discovered cleaning spell, _novum stabilis_.

As soon as she gave the final flick of her wand to gather and focus the magical energy, a transparent push broom spun out of her wand tip and twirled across the floor. It quickly gathered up all of the debris into a pile and then deposited it in the trashcan. Her office now smelled strongly of freshly cut hay, but it was better than the alternative. Luckily she didn’t have any seasonal allergies.

Replacing her wand it its holster, Hermione rigidly sat back down in her chair and pulled it up to her desk. Then she carefully opened up the two-hundred year old history of the Needlemont family and returned to her work. As always, only books could be trusted to give her peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See my tumblr for pictures of the cast from the story. I changed a few actors from the movies.  
> Sirius Black is now played by Tom Hiddleston  
> Narcissa (Black) Malfoy is now played by Michelle Pfeiffer  
> Bill Weasley is now played by Sam Heughan  
> Fleur (Delacour) Weasley is now played by Dakota Fanning  
> Gabrielle Delacour is played by Elle Fanning


	10. Gabrielle visits Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning – discussions of kidnapping and family trauma.  
> Thanks for your awesome comments cheering me on and letting me know what the story makes you wonder about!

Several hours later a tentative knock sounded on her door. Hermione considered ignoring it, but she’d never been a coward. “Come in,” she called, carefully closing the book in front of her and renewing the protective preservation spells. She braced herself for a coworker, but got a surprise when her cousin Gabrielle’s hesitant face appeared in the doorway.

“Hermione, are you busy? The secretary, Mr. Mawhinney, said I could find you here. I was hoping we could go to lunch together, since it’s my first day here at the Ministry.” Gabrielle tucked a silver-blond strand of hair behind one ear and bit her lip anxiously.

“Oh,” Hermione hesitated for a moment, but in the end she couldn’t bear to hurt Gabrielle’s feelings, no matter how much she wanted to just hole up in her office for the rest of the day. “Sure, just let me put away my notes.”

Standing up, Hermione turned and surreptitiously double-checked the glamour on her scarred arm. The skin still looked smooth and unblemished. _Good_. Then she began tidying her desk.

Gabrielle hovered in the doorway for another moment before taking a deep breath and shutting the door behind her. She came in and sank down into the chair in front of Hermione’s desk. Then she sniffed and looked around quizzically. “Why does it smell like hay in here?”

Before Hermione could answer, she said quickly, “I do want to have lunch with you, but before we go I’d hoped to clear the air between us.”

Hermione felt her fingers slow down. Bracing herself for whatever her cousin had to say, Hermione sealed her inkwell. Then she walked around the front of the desk.

Leaning back against the wall, she crossed her arms and waited for Gabrielle to say what she needed to say. Hermione wasn’t sure how many more shocks she could take right now. Hopefully this would be an easy conversation.

Twisting her robes tight against her legs with the force of her grip, Gabrielle looked up at Hermione with a complicated mix of emotions moving across her beautiful young features. “I know we aren’t as close as we used to be before we visited the garden that day, but I meant what I said last night when I told you I wanted to be friends again. I don’t know why Fleur thinks I should be careful around you, or why Père ordered me to not spend too much time with you, but I’m done being told what to do by the family. I’m done acting like a helpless victim and letting past tragedies dictate my life. I’m not a child anymore. I want us to be close again, like family should be.”

“I also want, no,” Gabrielle paused and swallowed before sticking her chin out bravely, “I need to know why, after I got kidnapped from that garden six years ago, you just packed up and left us all behind, why you left me behind when I needed you.”

Hermine straightened up from her desk abruptly. “I didn’t choose to leave you, I would never have left you when you needed me,” she defended hotly, doing her best to carefully chose the words bubbling up from her churning gut, “not as long as I had a choice.”

“Then why? Did you leave because you got in an argument with Grandpère?” her cousin asked desperately. “I just don’t understand.”

“I left because your grandfather imprisoned me in a mental hospital,” Hermione stated bluntly, hoping this conversation didn’t lead to Gabrielle pushing her away instead of trying to pull her close. But she didn’t have a choice about telling her. With the rumors flying in the Ministry, Gabrielle was bound to hear it at some point. Better that it come from Hermione herself.

Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open. “Oh la vache, c’est vrai?!” she gasped in French. “No one told me that. What happened? Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that?”

Pained, Hermione looked away. “It was a bad time for everyone,” she said carefully. “We were all worried about your recovery after the kidnapping. They probably thought you were too fragile. I don’t blame them for not telling you.”

“Why did Grandpère put you in a mental hospital?” Gabrielle asked, biting her lower lip as she leaned forward in her chair.

Hermione mouth hung open for a moment in silence, the tip of her tongue pressed against her teeth. Then she shifted on her feet and grimaced. “I can’t say.”

She took a moment to wet her throat before continuing. “Your Grandfather had legal guardianship of me in the French magical world, but you know he never liked me, his distant British cousin. He only accepted me in the first place because my parents paid to research our magical ancestry after my Hogwarts letter and we found out about our tenuous connection to the famous potioneer Hector Dagworth-Granger. We used that connection to blunt his prejudice against someone he considered one step away from a muggle. He agreed to legal guardianship in magical France, but his honor didn’t demand one jot more. When I was hospitalized right after your kidnapping and wasn't able to explain why to his satisfaction, he decided to wash his hands of me. He did what he thought was best for you and the family and shipped me off to an institution while you recovered.”

Wide, aquamarine eyes met Hermione’s. “I never knew,” Gabrielle said emotionally, “but… I've always wondered if it was my fault, something I did that made you go away. Like you thought that if I’d just been smarter and not wandered away from you at the garden, if I’d just fought harder, then I wouldn’t have been taken. Sometimes I think that there must be something wrong in the way I look, something that tells people I make a good victim. Who else gets taken and used not just once, but twice before they’ve even hit puberty? First in Fleur’s tournament and then by that man. It’s caused my family so much pain. I’ve wondered if you blamed me for that, if you thought I’d attracted that man and let him take me.”

“No! Not even for a second,” Hermione cried, stepping away from her desk to gesture with her hands as she spoke. “Don’t ever think that, Gabrielle. You are beautiful, inside and out. You are not to blame for the sins of others. There is nothing wrong with you.”

Gabrielle bunched her robes in her fists and looked away. “No one ever talks about that time. I still don't even know how they found me. I shut down for a while. I had to. When I finally felt strong enough to open back up and look around, you were gone. When I asked, they just told me you had to leave. I was afraid that it was somehow my fault, that you wanted to get away from me, so I didn’t push.”

Crouching down in front of Gabrielle, Hermione reached out and took her hands. “Never blame yourself for the actions of others. You were just a child and you did nothing wrong. I love you and I made my own choices, just like your grandfather did and just like the bastard who took you did. You had no control over any of that. Making sure you were okay was the most important thing for the family. I agreed with that. Of course you came first. I don't like what your grandfather did with me, but I love you and you did nothing wrong. You aren't at fault for what he did and it’s not your job to fix what's past, so stop even thinking that.”

Two tears dripped off Gabrielle’s face and spattered onto their clasped hands. Hermione squeezed her hands supportively, willing her cousin to hear and believe. “I’ll try,” Gabrielle said through swimming aquamarine eyes. “Thank you. And if you ever do want to tell me more about what happened to you, I’m here. I care. I’ll listen, but I’ll try not to press.”

She gave a watery laugh and sniffled, “My mind healer taught me those lines. She’ll be disappointed that I’ve relapsed with the guilt. I probably need to do my positive affirmations again and send her an owl, but I’ll try to be better about that.”

Sliding off her chair, Gabrielle released Hermione’s hands to kneel down and hug her tight around the neck. “Even though I got to see you only occasionally at family gatherings, I want you to know that I never stopped missing and loving you. I still have all of those books you gave me. You’re the reason I want to work in Civil Rights and Creature legislation. I even wrote about you in my application essay for the Ministry.”

Hermione sniffled and wrapped her arms around Gabrielle’s waist, hugging her cousin fiercely. No amount of suffering could make Hermione regret what she’d done in the past because she had this moment now with this sweet and healthy girl in her arms. That was worth anything. “Thank you. I love you too, _la cousine_ ,” Hermione whispered into her ear.

After a moment, they separated. Standing up shakily, Hermione grabbed her box of tissues and offered her cousin one. Then she then took one for herself. Sharing a smile, they both mopped up their faces and then used their wands to repair their appearance. _No need to start more gossip_ , Hermione thought.

“We better get going to lunch before we run out of time,” Hermione said, attempting to return to business and normality. “But let’s have a chocolate to tide us over on the walk,” she winked and pulled out two of her Violet Mint Morphos, handing one to Gabrielle.

As they walked down the hall together, Hermione’s eyes level with Gabrielle’s shoulders, her taller cousin rolled the chocolate around in her mouth and said, “These are good but strange. It tastes a bit like I’m eating perfume.”

Hermione shrugged. “You don’t have to like it. I won’t be offended. A friend of mine introduced them to me. He told me that they remind him of comfort and beauty, like a mix between walking through a fragrant flower garden and getting a warm hug from someone who loves you. I feel the same thing when I eat them now, so I use them when I need a pick-me-up.”

“Oh, I can taste that feeling now, too,” Gabrielle said with youthful enthusiasm as she glided along at Hermione’s side. “Thinking about that makes me like it more.” They shared a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cast suggestions are just for fun as I love looking up and posting pictures of pretty people to my tumblr. If that don’t work for you, it’s okay to ignore them. I don’t mind. I also don’t mind you suggesting your own favorite actors/actresses to play the roles. Depending on what part of Sirius we’re tapping into, there are several people who could play the role. There’s some amazing Ben Barnes photo manips of him as Sirius out there. He’s just barely too young for my story or he would have won the role, I think.  
> Thanks again for your comments. I love them!


	11. Hermione Finds an Old Friend

As they walked across the lobby, Hermione turned to Gabrielle. "Would you prefer a salad or something more substantial for lunch?"

"A salad, but a hearty one with more than just croutons and a single tomato, please," answered Gabrielle.

"I know just the place," Hermione said, turning them towards the southern doors and the eponymously named _, La Salade_. As they stepped out into the sunshine, she found herself momentarily blinded by the sunlight. She and Gabrielle moved to the side at a slower pace to get out of the way of the other ministry employees rushing up and down the steps.

They'd only walked a few steps when she heard a male voice suddenly call, "Hermione?" Surprised, she turned. "Hermione, is that really you?" an unfamiliar man asked.

Confused, she looked him over, trying to place him. The stranger, who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, stood at least a head taller than most of the people rushing up and down the stairs. He had a handsome, charismatic face capped by dark, curly hair. His robes looked very expensive and cut to the height of fashion. He stared at her with almost uncomfortably intensity.

Cocking her head to the side, she hesitantly answered, "Yes, I'm Hermione. Do I know you?" She felt a little emotionally drained for a confrontation right now. Hopefully he wasn't about to turn verbally abusive.

The man's searching gaze turned into a blinding smile full of charismatic joy. It just begged to be shared. The smile and twinkling eyes finally sparked her memory to go _click click click_ , making the connection. Hermione remembered him.

"Sirius!?" she gasped, looking him up and down incredulously. He'd been much more haunted and gaunt the last time she'd seen the man, but now she couldn't help but recognize her long lost friend. "It's so good to see you. You look great!" Coming forward, she gave him an enthusiastic hug.

Sirius laughed happily and engulfed her in return, "Of course I'm serious! That's my name! If I look great, then you look fantastic, Hermione! I'm so glad to see you again too, especially here in Britain!"

Leaning back, he placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her up and down. "Please tell me you work here at the Ministry," he demanded with a toothy smile.

"In Spell Recovery and Creation," Hermione said an answering grin.

"Drat, then I can't transfer you into my department," he said crankily with a thwarted scowl.

"What about you, then?" she asked.

Sirius shrugged cockily. "I've been taking the old place over for the past five years or so."

"Considering your penchant for mischief, I'm surprised they trust you in a position of power," Hermione teased. "Just what exactly is it you do again? Interior decorator? I remember your work in the lobby of The Institute fondly. Or do you use your animagus form to fetch the mail? Or find the balls that disappear from the Department of Magical Sports?"

Rearing back with fake indignation, Sirius held his hand to his chest. "I'm hurt."

Gabrielle's tinkling laughter interrupted their banter. "He's not just important, Hermione. As of this month, he's the Deputy Minister of Magic, directly behind the Minister of Magic in terms of governmental power."

Hermione felt her jaw drop, deeply regretting not reading her newspapers sooner. She'd let her grasp of current events and politics slide while she'd worked at mastering her new job and welcomed her cousin to Britain. It had obviously been a mistake.

"I'm interning in his office," Gabrielle explained, "but I didn't know you two had met before." The blond looked back and forth between them curiously.

"I've visited France several times over the years," Sirius said vaguely.

A bitter smile came and went on Hermione's face. "I just finished telling my cousin that I'd been put in The Institute six years ago. This morning, someone started a rumor in the office about me being in a psych ward."

Sadness carved familiar stress lines across Sirius's face. "Life is rarely fair or kind," he pronounced softly.

Then he turned to Gabrielle. "I met Hermione right before the end of The War. We ran into each other outside a museum and then shared a lunch table and a fascinating discussion about repurposing old spells. It literally changed my life."

Bemused, Hermione looked at him askance.

Sirius winked but declined to explain just yet. He continued speaking, "Soon after that we met again at The Institute. We were both patients. Neither of us talked about our pasts, but we became good friends and partners in mischief, despite the age differences. Being in Azkaban and subjected to the Dementors for so many years had damaged me. At the time, Voldemort had gone to ground with only the occasional hit and run attack. We had no leads. Doing nothing was driving me crazy, both figuratively and literally."

Shrugging, Sirius gave a wry smile, "My son finally convinced me to take a few months off and get some professional help. I chose France because if the therapy didn't work, at least I'd get to eat good food and meet beautiful women. And it did help, though I'm not sure if I attribute that to the daily therapy or to the pranks I got to pull on the staff with the help of Hermione here." He sent her another wink.

"We're lucky we never got caught for those pranks. They pulled me aside to ask me questions several times, but could never prove anything," Hermione said. "As a rich patron voluntarily visiting and with that charming smile, the administrators always gave Sirius a pass." She shook her finger at him, "And I'm still annoyed that you disappeared without even saying goodbye. The chocolates were nice, but the note too vague."

"Speaking of getting caught, that reminds me," Sirius said, ignoring her criticism as he looked her up and down while rubbing his hands together gleefully. "You're not attached to some other bloke, are you? I don't see a wedding ring."

Wrinkling her brow, Hermione shrugged and looked away. "Considering my baggage, I'm not exactly the greatest catch," she said bitterly.

"Everyone has baggage," Sirius said, waving away her words. "If you need help hauling it around you can try asking at St. Mungos. I have a few good names if you need them."

Surprised, Hermione found herself smiling. "I'll keep that in mind," she said, actually half-serious.

"Anyways, does that mean you're still single? Because so is my son and I've been wanting to introduce you to him for years," he trailed off leadingly.

"She is still single," Gabrielle interrupted, "and they would be perfect together," she gushed, clapping her hands. Then she paused and winced, "Except he doesn't quite possess his father's silver tongue. I fear he made a very bad first impression on her at my party last night."

Tilting her head to the side, Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them with burgeoning suspicion. "Just who is your son, Sirius?"

"Why Harry Potter, of course," answered Gabrielle.

Hermione's world tilted. _Click click click_ went the facts in her mind, resorting themselves. Everything suddenly became clear.

"My ears are burning," said a familiar voice from behind Hermione's shoulder. "Why are you talking about me?"

Swallowing hard against the buzzing in her ears, Hermione turned to look at the face of Harry, her mystery man from the night before. When she met his beautiful green eyes, those _famous_ green eyes, they widened in surprise and pleasure at seeing her. Then he must have rewound what he'd just heard in his head and matched it to her appalled expression, because his face transformed into an opaque, protective mask that revealed nothing.

"They should be, since I was talking about you to these lovely young ladies," said Sirius, clapping Harry on the back. Distantly Hermione noticed that Sirius dwarfed Harry in height, but then again, she'd once read that Harry had been a famous quidditch seeker at school, so not being tall made sense.

"Supposedly you made a bad impression on my friend Hermione. Tell me all the details and I'll try to cast you in a better light. Then you can abjectly apologize, perhaps over lunch, if you ladies haven't eaten yet?" Sirius looked at Gabrielle and Hermione, but she still felt frozen.

"I apologized already," Harry protested absently, not taking his eyes off of Hermione's face. "I know I behaved badly."

Her old friend Sirius from The Institute was somehow Harry's _dad_. As if that wasn't enough, Harry wasn't just _Harry_ , he was Harry **POTTER**. Of course everyone at the party had known him and given him a pass on his behavior.

_Of course._

Hermione felt like an idiot. She'd stopped reading articles and books on Harry Potter after the war ended because it felt voyeuristic and disrespectful. He'd made it clear that he didn't want the fame or exposure and had asked people to stop. She'd felt he deserved that, even if the press didn't. So she'd gotten rid of the fraudulent biographies about him and refused to read the sensationalist articles mentioning him in the paper.

_Oh how she regretted it now._

Hunching her shoulders, she crossed her arms to keep from either flailing around in shock, punching him in the nose, or running away in abject humiliation. "Your name is Harry _Potter_ , _The_ Harry Potter, hero of the last war," Hermione said levelly as she stared at his bright green eyes and faintly scarred face, topped by the jagged lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. "You failed to mention that."

_How could she have missed the obvious connection? How could she be so stupid?_ _She must be the only girl, the only_ person _in all of magical Britain not to recognize Harry Potter on sight._

Sure, most of the photos she'd seen were from his teens. He'd obviously matured a lot more since then, but now that she knew his name it was glaringly obvious. Harry had wrong-footed her with his insults, followed by his hidden pain and passionate kisses. His behavior had made him too real and unique to match up in her mind to the murky myths surrounding 'The Boy Who Lived.'

_But she should have known better._

Hermione felt mortified. He must have realized her ignorance. Had Harry been laughing at her behind her back? Had he told Ron? Had the two of them commiserated over what a gullible pill she was?

Harry's body language closed off even more at her words. "Most people already know. That you didn't was… refreshing," he said. "I would have told you eventually, but I wanted you to get to know me as just _Harry_ before adding all of the baggage to it."

His words made sense. She tried to push down her doubts and insecurities, but it was hard. There was nothing Hermione hated more than feeling like an idiot. Second on the list was feeling ignorant. This encompassed both.

"I don't know the details," Sirius said, looking back and forth between them, "but my statement from earlier stands. _Everyone_ has baggage."

"This is true," Gabrielle said with flat blue eyes too old for such a young face. Then she blinked and forced a smile. "And I do not think concealing his identity is an unforgivable crime. You seem to have already forgiven him for one rudeness, why not another?" she asked with a delicate shrug.

Then she looked up at the Ministry clock tower. "We really do need to leave now if we are going to have time to eat our lunch, especially with the long lines I can see from up here. Perhaps good food may grease the path to forgiveness."

"I have a reservation," said Sirius insistently. "Come and eat with us. I'll make sure you get back on time and if not, I'll put in a good word with your boss," the Deputy Minister of Magic winked at them. "Please, Hermione?" Everyone turned and looked at her expectantly.


	12. Sirius Speaks of the Past

Breathing in deeply through her nose, Hermione nodded silently. Everyone then followed Sirius through the busy streets. He and Gabrielle kept up a light conversation along the way. They finally stopped at a little café called _The Bunny Eats_.

Harry stayed quiet while they sorted themselves out, but followed behind Hermione close enough that she could almost feel the heat of his body through her robes. She still hadn’t quite recovered from the surprise of his fame yet. However, she also knew that beneath the chaos of her emotions she still liked him. She didn’t want him to disappear from her life forever. She just wanted him to stay close until she got over her embarrassment and decided what to do with him.

Sirius opened the restaurant door and waved them inside. “The food here is vegetarian except for the rabbit dishes. You can either eat like a bunny or eat the bunny.” Sirius shrugged philosophically at Gabrielle’s disbelieving look. “The owner has a strange sense of humor.”

Although a line snaked from the counter all the way to the door and out past the front window of _The Bunny Eats_ , Sirius didn’t seem worried. As soon as they stepped inside the restaurant, the owner hopped out of the kitchen and rushed over. To Hermione’s delighted amusement, the dark-skinned owner with his curly black hair and big teeth looked a little bit like the black rabbit from one of her favorite childhood stories.

Hermione used to have teeth like that too. She’d told her dentist parents that they’d gotten shrunk in an accident, but really she’d let Fleur fix them for her at age 14. Fleur had wanted to go even smaller, but Hermione had gotten cold feet and made her stop. 

“Thaddeus Hare, at your service, Lord Black,” he said with a bow.

“That can’t be your real name!” Gabrielle blurted out in surprise, then blushed at her rudeness.

Mr. Hare laughed and took her arm, leading her to the table in the corner. “Ah but it is, my lovely young lady. I used to get teased about how my last name perfectly fit my rabbitty appearance. After a few years, I decided to stop crying and embrace my differences instead. I vowed to be the epitome of the perfect Hare.”

He fetched two more chairs for the reserved table with his wand and gallantly seated Gabrielle. “But despite my best efforts,” Mr. Hare said, swishing his wand to bring plates, silverware, and cups zinging out of the kitchen, “I never managed to win a running competition.” He winked at them, causing Gabrielle and Hermione to giggle in surprise.

He continued his story, “So I gave up on running and turned to food instead. In this, I have had much more success. If you don’t believe me, just try one of my dishes.” After floating a menu in front of each of them, he smiled and returned to the kitchen.

As the table became quiet, Hermione kept looking up from her menu to sneak glances at Harry. The stress lines around his eyes turned to laugh lines after the fourth time he caught her at it. Even knowing he was Harry Potter, she still wanted to get to know him better. She wanted to learn more about _Harry_.

Once she decided on that, she felt herself start to relax. The next time their eyes caught, she gave him a small, forgiving smile before looking away again. She could see his broad grin out of the corner of her eye. The tension between them morphed into something new.

At the table Sirius sat across from Hermione, with Harry and Gabrielle on each side. At first she thought it might be a good thing, since she wouldn’t be staring directly at Harry, but then he kept accidentally-but-probably-on-purpose nudging her with his knee. It was a subtle slide, not a knock, but it was driving her crazy.

Each time he touched her he made her pulse jump and elevated her temperature. She hadn’t yet decided what to do about it, but she needed to do something soon or else he would make her drop her fork. Her subtle glares just made his lips twitch in amusement.

Once they’d all made good inroads on eating their food, Sirius turned to Hermione. “So I have a question that seems extremely relevant in light of you and Harry’s awkward silence.”

Confused as to Sirius’s meaning, she looked back inquiringly. He’d obviously missed that they’d progressed past awkward silence and into flirting glances and nudging knees. Just as well.

Sirius continued, “Hermione, just what is your last name? I’ve looked for you over the years, but since we never actually exchanged last names, I had no luck. You’d be surprised by how many Hermiones there are in France.”

Blushing, Hermione unexpectedly felt a laugh bubbling up. It did put her annoyance with Harry into perspective. At least she’d only been ignorant about his last name for one day instead of for six years.

It soothed a hurt to know that Sirius had looked for her despite his abrupt departure from her life. She’d purposely never asked her chocolatier the name of the other regular customer always buying Violet Mint Morphos because she hadn’t wanted to track down Sirius again only to be rejected.  His question made her feel foolish for not clarifying names for both of them on the steps earlier.

“My name is Hermione Jean Granger,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to finally formally meet you, Mr. …?” Trailing off, she looked at him expectantly, playing along.

Sweeping his arm out regally, he barely avoided knocking a cup off the table as he bowed his head and pronounced, “Lord Sirius Orion Black, at your service. Please allow me to introduce my adopted son, Lord Harry James Potter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger,” Harry said, a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth as his knee slid across hers under the table. “Call me Harry and,” he bowed his head and looked at her through his eyelashes, “if it pleases you, can we pretend that this introduction is how our first meeting really went?”

Gabrielle giggled.

“I’ll take it under consideration,” Hermione said dryly, suppressing a smile of her own. “You both, of course, already know my cousin, Ms. Gabrielle Ariel Delacour.” The conversation flowed much more easily after that.

After eating the last candied pecan in his rabbit, nut, and berry salad, Sirius dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and then sat back with a contented sigh. Looking around the table, he smiled. “You may not have realized it, Harry, but I have mentioned my friend Hermione to you before.”

Harry looked at him in confusion.  “Hermione isn’t that common of a name, no matter what you say. I would have remembered.”

Sirius smiled with a hint of sadness. “I told you about her, but I didn’t use her name. I wanted to respect her privacy in case my heroic tale got out.”

Then he turned to Gabrielle. “Your cousin helped save the entire wizarding world, you know. We couldn’t have defeated Voldemort or won the war without her. She’s a great hero and it’s time someone else knew about it.”

Now Hermione was confused. “Just what are you on about now, Sirius?” she asked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m no great war hero. I spent the war over in France.” Harry and Gabrielle both looked confused but intrigued.

Turning to Hermione, Sirius said, “You asked why I abruptly disappeared on you without saying goodbye. I’m about to explain why.” Then he leaned back in his chair. “When we met in France for the first time, I thanked you for your help and invited you to lunch at that quaint little café, remember Hermione? We had lunch and you told me about your interest in old spells.”

Tilting her head, Hermione tried to think back to that time. It was something she usually avoided doing because of all of the bad memories. “I think I remember that. I’m sure I babbled on about a lot of things that day we ran into each other,” Hermione said, “but spell discovery has been a passion of mine ever since I found out about magic and moved to France to study.”

She turned to their lunch companions and explained, “Sirius got lost in magical Paris and refused to admit it. I rescued him from a literal tourist trap and he repaid me by treating me to lunch.”

Clearing his throat, Sirius defended, “I wasn’t lost, I was just distracted by my thoughts. I would have escaped from the trap eventually on my own. Hermione just expedited the matter.”

Harry snorted a laugh, not believing a word of it.

After a put-upon sigh, Sirius continued, “Well, I found myself interested in a very particular spell Hermione told me about during our first lunch together.” He turned to look her in the face. “When we met up again at the Institute, you wouldn’t speak about it. I could tell something bad had happened to the vibrant intellectual I’d met just a few weeks earlier, but we never discussed what. During our friendship, I had to reconstruct the spell from the hints you dropped here and there. You always talked around things and I had to learn not to press,” Sirius said. “Making you uncomfortable led to me feeling bad and spiraling into my own problems.”

Hermione had no reply to that.

“At first it was just an intellectual itch I just liked to scratch at to distract myself from my own troubles. My flashbacks of my time in prison had gotten worse,” Sirius said. “But then one day I realized that your spell could help Harry find the Voldemort’s snake Nagini and potentially even Voldemort himself, that it could help us win the war. I got so excited that I immediately raced off to find you. Unfortunately, before you could answer my questions you took ill. Then I somehow took ill and the stuff rushed the both of us off in different directions for treatment. By the time I recovered, you were nowhere to be found. My impatience got the better of me and I just left you a note with the nurse and the last of my gourmet British chocolates.”

Turning to Harry, he added in aside, “She’s the only person I’ve ever met who actually loves Violet Mint Morphos like I do.”

Then he returned his gaze to Hermione and Gabrielle. “I spent the next week tracking down a copy of the old diary Hermione had told me about. Inside its pages I found the spell.” Sirius smiled with remembered excitement, “just like she’d said. The family had originally used it to track down pets that wandered off, in particular their prize hounds, but Hermione had some ideas for tweaking it to make it more useful.” Sirius twirled his finger and pointed at Hermione to encourage her to continue the explanation.

For most of his story she’d felt just as lost as everyone else. But then suddenly it had all come together. Hermione realized just what spell Sirius was talking about. She’d felt a zing of shock. She didn’t remember telling him about that spell, how could she have even hinted at it during her time at the Institute? Sirius must be as clever as he always said he was if he could figure it out from one lunch and the occasional fragments she’d mentioned through her cloud of depression. Just thinking about talking about it now had her tongue frozen against the back of her teeth. She couldn’t say anything.

Sirius took up the narrative again after an expectant silence where everyone was looking at Hermione to speak. He awkwardly turned back to Harry and Gabrielle to explain. “As I said, I managed to track down a copy of the diary. The original family had created a rather gruesome spell to track their dogs that relied on sacrificing one of the littermates, breaking apart its soul in ritual, and then binding those soul pieces to the other pups and then to either the house or the family magic. They used those links to track the hounds down when they got lost.”

Abruptly Harry straightened up in his seat and leaned forward. “Are you talking about tracking horcruxes?”

Sirius pointed a finger at Harry. “Exactly or at least something that’s a close cousin to them,” Sirius confirmed.

“What’s a horcrux?” Hermione asked around the lump in her throat.


	13. A Heroic Save

“A horcrux is a hideous object that a Dark wizard uses to hide a fragment of their soul. It makes killing them nearly impossible unless you destroy all of the soul fragments as well as their physical host,” Harry explained quietly. “Voldemort used them.”

“That’s horrific,” Gabrielle said, obviously imagining what must go into splitting a soul.

Harry nodded. “There’s a reason it’s so Dark.”

After a moment of silence, Sirius continued his narration. “We were on the cusp of losing. Voldemort had taken over both the Ministry and Hogwarts years earlier and they just kept gaining more ground. People were losing hope. I used what Hermione had mentioned to finish modifying the spell for the horcrux we had access to. Then we used the spell to track them down. Because of Hermione, we killed Nagini and our forces successfully ambushed Voldemort and his death eaters, killing the dark lord once and for all.”

Gabrielle reached across the table, took Hermione’s hand, and squeezed. “You are amazing,” she said proudly.

Red faced, Hermione stuttered a denial, “But that wasn’t me, that was you, Sirius. You were the one who found the spell and Harry’s the one who destroyed Voldemort. You two are the heroes, not me.”

“But I never would have found the spell without you, Hermione. Things were looking very bleak for our side of the war until I met you,” Sirius said solemnly.

“But,” Hermione went to deny the praise again, but Harry reached over and firmly enclosed her other hand with his warm fingers.

“But nothing,” Harry said. “Thank you, Hermione. Thank you for befriending my father in France and thank you for giving him the knowledge I needed to find and finish off Voldemort. You’ll never know how much we needed it. You are a great hero. Thank you.” Harry rubbed his thumb up and down her hand as he finished his earnest words.

With both hands trapped by Gabrielle and Harry and with everyone staring at her in wonder, Hermione didn’t know what to do.

“This is where you say you’re welcome and acknowledge your awesomeness,” Sirius said with a stern voice and twinkling eyes.

She opened her mouth to refute him one last time, but then Harry tugged on her hand warningly.

“No more buts!” he scolded.

“We have you trapped until you say it,” Gabrielle added with an impish grin, tapping her fingers across Hermione’s hand.

Looking around at the three expectant faces, Hermione just shook her head. “You are all ridiculous, but… thank you. It’s nice to know that something I did helped. I’m glad.”

“And?” Gabrielle said with youthful mischief in her eyes.

Sirius smirked and rested his chin on his tented fingers.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione nevertheless smiled and said, “And I am a pretty awesome researcher, especially when it comes to finding old spells.”

“Yes,” Sirius said fondly, “you definitely are. Thank you.”

Then he looked up at the clock on the wall and sighed. “I want to catch up with you more, Hermione Granger, but I really should get you and Gabrielle back before you are so late from lunch that it becomes quitting time.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that dire yet,” Gabrielle said prettily as she released Hermione’s hand and slid back her chair. Sirius stepped away to take care of the check and Gabrielle followed to argue with him and Mr. Hare about paying for her own meal.

That left Harry and Hermione alone at the table still holding hands. After one more warm squeeze, Harry reluctantly slid his fingers off of Hermione’s. He rose up from the table and leaned over to speak intimately into her ear, “If a big hero like you has the time, I’d love to see you again, Hermione.” His tongue seemed to caress the syllables of her name, turning her spine to mush.

Straightening his robes, Harry stood up and added, “I work in the DMLE as an auror.” Then his confidence cracked as he started to babble slightly. “Sirius and I take turns dragging each other out for meals about once a week, but we get bored of each other. You’re welcome to join us again at any time. Or just me. Lunch wouldn’t be boring if you were there, of course, which is why I’d like you to come. I find you really interesting and we could get to know each other better. You know.”

Hermione stood up and sent him a warmly amused smile. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Harry relaxed with a wry smile at his own nervousness.

Seeing Hermione’s return grin, his green eyes darkened. After a quick scan of their surroundings, he leaned forward. “I’m also open to a private dinner where you beg me to give your comb back and I try to take another one and kiss you again,” Harry said quickly, tilting his head to the side and sending her a mischievous look from beneath his long dark lashes.

Biting her lip, Hermione whispered back, “Harry, you are a menace.” No one had ever teased her like this. She liked it. If they weren’t in public, she might have given in to her urge to kiss him.

Hermione took two steps away towards the door, but then stopped to look at him over her shoulder, “And I don’t beg. If I want my comb back _or_ another kiss from you,” she said archly, “I’ll just come over and take it.”

A dangerous light appeared in Harry’s green eyes. “I look forward to it,” he said, “anytime, anywhere.”

Unaware of the undercurrents, Gabrielle came back and interrupted their flirting. “Lord Black wouldn’t let me pay my part of the bill,” she complained. “We should get going if we don’t want to be too late. I know he’s technically my boss, but I don’t want to make a bad impression on everyone else on my first day.”

“That’s fine, let’s go,” Hermione said. They all exited _The Bunny Eats_ and turned to walk back towards the Ministry building. Hermione would definitely be coming back to eat here. The food had tasted delicious.

Once outside, Sirius turned to the young blond gliding by his side with a mischievous smile. “So Gabrielle.” The wind had picked up during lunch, tossing Gabrielle’s silver blond hair to and fro, though somehow, miraculously, not tangling it. Hermione was glad she’d pulled hers up with a set of magical chopsticks, though a few curly strands still managed to escape to tease her cheeks.

She reached up to push them out of her face, but Harry’s fingers got there first. Reaching over, he plucked a curl out of her mouth and tucking it safely behind her ear with a tender smile. Hermione blushed.

Sirius continued his questioning, pushing his curly hair out of his eyes. “Harry still hasn’t told me just how embarrassing his introduction to Hermione really was last night. As her cousin and an eye witness, would you care to enlighten me?”

“Dad,” Harry groaned, sounding like every son ever embarrassed by their father in front of a girl. His dark hair whipped in the wind. A few strands caught on the stubble of his face, hiding the faint scars across his cheek and forehead.

Ignoring him completely, Sirius added, “And please, don’t feel the need to spare any of the sordid details.”

Harry looked over at Gabrielle pleadingly and Hermione followed his gaze. She was wondering just what her cousin would chose to say when she saw the shop sign above Gabrielle twist in the heavy wind. Aghast, she watched it break free from the wall with a squeal and start to fall directly above her cousin’s head.

Reacting to Hermione’s horror, Gabrielle’s aquamarine eyes looked up in confusion. Several people on the crowded street screamed out in shock and warning as the heavy sign toppled. Everything happened very fast.

Whipping out her wand, Hermione already knew she’d be too late. She wasn’t fast enough, but she still had to try. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” Hermione shouted desperately, pointing her wand at the sign as she tried to levitate it mid-fall.

A split second before she finished her incantation, Harry blurred in front of her, darting forward to hook his arm around Gabrielle and yank her out of the away. Gabrielle’s breath exploded out of her body with a pained grunt. The second he touched her, Harry shouted out, “ _Protego Duo_!” The faint shimmer of a protective ward snapped into place.

Hermione’s spell stopped the heavy metal sign in mid-air. Flicking her wrist, Hermione floated the sign over against the wall out of the way of pedestrians before letting it fall to the ground with a clatter. Then she turned and ran to check on her cousin.

All signs of the flirtatious Harry from lunch had disappeared. In his place crouched a man forged in war, reactive and deadly. He kept Gabrielle huddled protectively in one arm while the other brandished his wand threateningly. His shield spell caused the air in front of them to ripple like heat rising off of pavement. Moving them both backward until they bumped lightly against a wall, Harry’s eyes constantly scanned the crowded street for threats.

Wand drawn, Sirius stepped up to Harry on the side holding Gabrielle, protecting Harry’s weaker side from outside the spell ward. They moved seamlessly, as if they’d fought together before. Obviously Harry trusted him, because he turned to look in the opposite direction for threats.

“Gabrielle, are you alright? Gabrielle,” Hermione gasped in concern, unable to get through Harry’s shield spell to check.

“I’m alright,” Gabrielle said shakily. After a few more seconds, Harry dropped the ward spell but not his wand. “My curse strikes again. Thank you, Harry.”

“It could have broken above any one of us,” Hermione argued unsteadily. “That was pure bad luck that it broke over you. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.” Hermione grabbed her cousin and hugged her tightly. They both shook in reaction to the scare.

“It looks like the heavy wind caused the sign to break, though the owner must have been negligent with his protective spells to allow it to happen,” Sirius said, anger coloring his voice as he examined the twisted metal brackets on the fallen sign. “Trust me when I say that he won’t get away with it.”

Blinking rapidly, Harry exhaled and finally holstered his wand. After one last scan of the street, he looked over at Hermione and Gabrielle. “You have a very impressive draw speed, Hermione. Have you ever considered becoming an Auror?” 

“No, I love my books too much to leave research,” Hermione said, keeping one hand wrapped around her cousin. “Thank you for saving her, Harry,” she said.

“If I’d been too slow, you would have saved her yourself,” Harry replied.

Hermione shook her head in negation. “I wasn’t fast enough. The sign still would have hit her.”

“She’d have a nasty bump on her head,” Sirius cut in, “but you stopped it high enough that it wouldn’t have killed her,” he disagreed. “Gabrielle was very lucky to have both of you. This accident could have ended a lot more tragically.”

After that solemn statement, several aurors apparated into the street. Seeing their huddled group, they ran towards them. A crowd had gathered. Hermione recognized several of her coworkers, including Arran Mawhinney. She also recognized Percy Weasley and Parvati Patil in the curious crowd.

After making sure the Deputy Minister wasn’t hurt, the aurors briefly took their statements. They promised to speak to the shop owner and send a copy of the file to Harry, who’d then share it with Deputy Minister Black. Then they released everyone to return to work. It was a much more sober foursome who walked back into the Ministry Building.


	14. Harry Discusses a Case

 

"Excuse me, Lord Potter?" said a female voice with a thick French accent.

Harry finished writing his sentence and then looked up. "Yes? Can I help you?" he asked the beautiful blond hovering in his doorway. She walked forward and an almost cloying burst of flowery perfume swirled through his office.

Harry immediately became distracted by her looks. Her honey blond hair had one of those sleekly layered haircuts that whispered money and sophistication. For a moment he got distracted noticing how the way she clutched a folder against her middle emphasized her slender waist and pushed up her breasts enticingly against the low neckline of her robes. Her shiny purple snake skin heels, four-inches high at the least, also looked expensive and emphasized her long legs.

However, when Harry’s eyes came back to her face he suddenly went cold. Her beautiful body and expensive outfit failed to hide the hard, calculating gleam in her flat brown eyes as she scrutinized Harry and his office from beneath her unnaturally long lashes. Pushing down his physical reaction, he looked at her more closely. Harry noticed that the point of her heels and toes were shod in sharp metal tips. He realized that her shoes could probably double as weapons in a fight.

"Yes?” Harry asked. “And I don't go by Lord, just mister."

"Oh, but after your defeat of the dark lord, didn't they elevate you to the peerage? Plus, you're in line to inherit Lord Black's estate as well. I couldn't possibly disrespect you by calling you just mister. Not unless you agreed to address me informally as well," she protested breathily. She sent him such a look of beguiling flirtation that for a split second he almost gave in to her feminine wiles and just told her to call him Harry.

The last few years he’d had a weakness for blonds. After Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley, his last three girlfriends had been blond. If he'd been a different kind of man, he probably would have married Luna Lovegood. Luckily they’d mutually decided to just stay good friends.

But after meeting Hermione, his weakness for blonds had gone cold. Last night, he’d dreamed of being tangled up in long dark curls. He’d had to take a cold shower upon awakening. 

"I can't address you at all, as I've yet to learn your name or your business here," Harry said abruptly. His reactions to her didn’t feel natural. He wondered if she had some sort of enticement charm on. Usually he didn’t feel drawn to strange women trying to flirt with him, especially the ones with fancy clothes and haircuts. Normally he just felt embarrassed and annoyed. The thought of being bespelled made him angry.

"Oh, please forgive me," she said with a pink blush that Harry would bet money on that she practiced in the mirror. "I'm Prunellie Moreau from Magical Sports. Please feel free to call me Prunellie. I'm just here to drop off those reports you requested on the hexed muggle curling equipment. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Her French accent thickened on her last sentence as she leaned forward across his desk and offered him her hand, not so coincidentally giving him a good look down her cleavage.

A thick cloud of perfume also wafted his way. He felt a hazy attraction and forced himself to focus on Hermione to fight it off. Harry hated enticement potions.

Unable to politely refuse, despite the way Prunellie set off his instincts, he took her hand. As quickly as possible he shook it. "Charmed," he said evenly, meaning it in the literal sense as well, but not for long if he could help it.

Then Harry realized that he'd seen Prunellie Moreau just last night at Fleur's party. Sirius had pointed her out as Percy's girlfriend. Then she'd had some sort of argument with the Delacours.

Releasing her hand, he flipped his palm up and waited for her to give him the folder. Biting her lip, she carefully laid it in his hand. "I could stay and explain the highlights for you if that would help, Harry," she said coyly.

"That's not necessary. Thank you, Ms. Moreau," he replied, deliberately emphasizing her last name. "If I have any questions later I'll be sure to send a memo over."

Smoothing her dress down her body, she stepped back from his desk. "Very well," she said. "If there's _anything_ else I can help you with, please let me know." She gave him an intimate smile and then turned to go.

"Actually, I am curious about something," he found himself saying. She quickly turned back. "Yes?" she asked with a curl of triumph on her lips.

"At the party last night I saw you arguing with the Delacours. What was that about?" Harry asked.

The smile fell off her lips, but otherwise her face stayed blankly pleasant. Almost too blank. It took her several moments to respond. "Oh, that?  When Mr. Weasley invited me to the party, I didn't realize who it was for."

Interesting that she'd called her boyfriend 'Mr. Weasley.' Probably because she wanted Harry to think she was available.

Prunellie continued her careful reply. "Back in France, the young Delacour girl has a bit of a… reputation, if you know what I mean. In my surprise I referenced the truth and was then verbally attacked for it by her cousin. I'm sorry that you had to see that, my Lord."

Harry felt his face hardening at her words. Gabrielle was a sweet young girl who didn't deserve to be constantly reminded of the tragedies in her past. Harry felt a lot of kinship in that. He hated being reminded of his famous past too. She'd done nothing to deserve a bad reputation and it pissed him off that people in France were blaming her for being a victim.

Swallowing quickly at the look on his face, Prunellie looked up at Harry's clock and insincerely widened her eyes. "Oh, I didn't realize the time. I must be getting back to work, unless there is something else I can help you with? I could meet you in the cafe later if you'd like. Perhaps we could talk a little and get to know each other better," she said hopefully.

"No, that's alright, thank you," Harry said quickly. "I'm sure I can figure out the report just fine. Have a good rest of your day."

"You as well," she said, undaunted, "and just let me know if you change your mind about the cafe. It's an open invitation." She sent him a warm and inviting smile and then slowly left with swinging hips.

Shaking his head, Harry ripped his eyes away from her departing hips and immediately cast a fresh air spell. A zephyr swirled through the room and then departed, taking the cloying smell of flowers with it. Harry’s head immediately felt clearer and his dislike of Prunellie Moreau crystallized.

Dragging the report on muggle baiting closer, Harry flipped it open. No matter how pretty the veneer, that woman had something rotten at her core. Percy was welcome to keep her.

Later that afternoon, Draco and Harry sat at their desks throwing ideas back and forth. They were discussing for the umpteenth time the scant evidence surrounding Teddy Lupin’s case. Nothing new was popping out.

“Alright,” Harry said tiredly, “let’s list off the events again.”

Draco didn’t even bother looking at the open file on his desk. “Exactly three weeks ago on a Monday morning around 7:30 am, Andromeda Tonks and her grandson, Edward “Teddy” Lupin, orphaned son of deceased war heroes Auror Nymphadora Tonks and Professor Remus Lupin, who suffered with lycanthropy, sat down at a table to eat their breakfast porridge before dropping Teddy off at that new co-op school that opened in the warehouse down the street from Gringotts. Teddy, excited to see his school friends, already had his school robes on and his backpack over his shoulders. At 9:47 am, Madam Tonks called the DMLE in a panic, reporting that Teddy was missing from the home. Aurors were dispatched to the scene.”

Cracking his neck from side to side, Harry then took up the narrative. “Andromeda reported that she’d opened the window for the post owl, become unsteady, and sat down at the kitchen table. She woke up from the kitchen table several hours later to find Teddy missing, presumably kidnapped. Teddy most likely was still wearing his uniform and backpack, although the kidnapper could have switched his clothing. Testing revealed that the breakfast porridge contained a sleeping draught. Whoever drugged the food had home brewed the sleeping draught using common ingredients and a commonly sold cauldron. The potion was a dead end.”

Draco continued, “We found a single set of boot prints in the dirt outside the open window, either a man’s size 7.5 or a woman’s size 7. The boots are a name brand Brummel, upper- to mid-range in price, unisex, and sold in multiple stores across Britain. Another dead end. A smudge of porridge and several of Teddy’s hairs and uniform threads were found caught on the windowsill. Most likely the perpetrator levitated the drugged Teddy out of the window and then portkeyed away.”

“Andromeda was almost immediately cleared of suspicion,” Harry said. “Extensive interviews have revealed nothing suspicious with Andromeda, Teddy’s closest relatives, the neighbors, their friends, or Teddy’s school. After clearing all of their regular acquaintances, we’ve come to a dead end there as well. We’ve already repeated several interviews without any gain. Engaging with the press and the public has failed to yield any useful leads.”

A depressed silence fell upon their office as Harry and Draco ran out of useful things to say. No one had conveniently discovered Teddy’s backpack in the street or a neighborhood dumpster. Harry himself had given Teddy that backpack. If he ever got a second chance, he would embed tracking charms into all of his gifts from now on.

As Teddy’s godfather, Harry had been determined to give the boy a better childhood than he himself had had. No one in Teddy’s life had a reason to take him. None of his acquaintances or teachers were suspicious. No new strangers had showed up in the weeks preceding his disappearance. It looked like a random snatching.

After three weeks missing with no new leads, the case looked completely cold. Harry had to believe that Teddy was still alive, despite the statistics. He refused to believe his godson was dead. He refused to stop looking.


	15. Sirius Visits Harry and Draco

 

Into the morose office strode Sirius. He carelessly threw himself down into the visitor's chair and broke the silence. "Hey pup," he greeted Harry.

Then he turned his head and looked Harry's partner over. "Draco, you're looking peaked. I think I even see a few hairs escaping from your ponytail. One of them might be gray. Maybe you should pick up a new supply of hair gel and a stylist before your fans decide to desert you."

Draco scowled and smoothed a hand over his head. "There's nothing wrong with my hair. I know you're just jealous because the last Witch Weekly poll of Men in the Ministry voted me more attractive than you. I think your age is catching up with you and your eyes are failing. Maybe you should pick up some of those half-moon spectacles. They might help you to finally get a date with someone your own age."

"Why would I want a date my own age when I have girls your age falling all over me?" Sirius retorted.

Harry snorted, "Maybe because to you they are just _girls_ instead of women and you have nothing in common with any of them? Which you keep complaining about when they throw themselves at your feet?"

Pointing a finger at his godson, Sirius ordered, "Don't throw my own words at me, Harry. That's just rude."

"Speaking of rude," Draco drawled, "my mother said that if you keep skipping out of her luncheons despite your promises to attend, she's going to hunt you down for sport."

Sirius winced. "That's low. You know why she wants me at those luncheons. She plans to ambush me with her choice of the next Lady Black. You're single men. You have to save me!"

Holding his hands up, Harry leaned back. "Don't look at me. I'm scared of Narcissa."

Draco nodded emphatically. "That's why you're my partner, Potter. You're a smart, smart man. I know exactly what she'd do to you, and to me too if we interfered, and it's not pretty. Besides which, as long as she's distracted by Sirius, she's not focusing on us."

Then he turned to Sirius. "So show up and smile at the pretty ladies like a good boy. You know she won't force you to marry one of them unless you genuinely love her. Well, unless you get one pregnant accidentally. Then she'd kill you after the wedding ceremony and just raise the baby herself."

"Ha ha," Sirius grumped. "I know how to treat a lady. I wouldn't do that. I just don't like how those lunches make me feel like a staked goat on the African savanna." All three men flashed back to similar luncheons with Narcissa and her lady friends and shuddered in sympathy.

"She just worries that the Black name and line will die out," Draco reminded them with loyalty for his mohter. "Plus she wants you to start producing curly-haired babies for her to dote upon before you try to prank the wrong person and end up sterile."

"Gee, thanks for that image. Maybe I should talk to her about the delights of blond grandchildren instead," Sirius said.

"You do and I'll throw her at Harry," Draco said with a hiss. "Then he'll help me refocus her attentions back on you. You’re the oldest. Give in gracefully!"

Folding his arms with a sigh, Sirius sat back with a huff. "Fine! I'll go to the next luncheon, but no promises that I'll talk to the lady or ladies in question."

Then he turned and sent Harry a smirk. "If it's too painful, I can always fob her off for a few weeks with the hope of curly haired babies from Harry here instead."

"Sirius," Harry growled.

Draco sat forward. "What's this then?" he asked, looking back and forth between the two men.

"Harry has a new girlfriend," Sirius said with a grin.

"She's not my girlfriend," a red-faced Harry protested, "not yet. We just met yesterday."

"But you want her to be," Sirius prodded with a little grin.

"Who?" Draco demanded.

"Her name's Hermione, Hermione Granger. She moved here from France about six months ago," Harry said with a little smile.

"Wait, not the classy French blond that’s dating Percy Weasley?" Draco asked.

Harry immediately shook his head and grimaced. "No, that's Prunellie Moreau. I just met her for the first time today. Hermione's actually originally from Britain but was schooled in France and then stayed there to work." Harry pictured Hermione in his mind. "Hermione's bold and really clever. She's short and curvy, with lively brown eyes and absolutely amazing curly hair that's not just brown but has shades of gold and mahogany and-" Harry looked up to see Sirius and Draco both staring at him and grinning. He stuttered to a halt and they both started laughing.

"Boy do you have it bad, Harry," Draco teased.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably.

Then Draco's smile froze and fell from his face. "Wait, this Granger bird wouldn't happen to work with Luna Lovegood, would she?"

Sirius cocked his head to the side and then looked at Harry before answering himself, "She said she works in Spell Creation and Recovery, so probably. Have you met her?"

Draco's mouth opened and closed once. Then he grimaced. "I think so, though I recognize her more from her name than Potter's overblown description of some great beauty. I'd gone down to the spell recovery department to pick up a file on a strange spell we'd found at a crime scene when I ran into Luna in the hallway. I'll admit that I was in a foul mood that day and I teased Lovegood about something or other.”

Harry huffed with annoyance. “Draco, you know Luna takes that stuff personally. Even though she tries to hide it, she’s very sensitive. She doesn’t deserve your crap.”

“I know, alright?” Draco snapped back. “But when I’m in a bad mood, I mock. That’s just what I do! I would have apologized eventually, but the next thing I know, some bushy-haired avenging angel popped up out of nowhere, pulled a stick out of her hair, and jabbed me in the side with it. Then she took Luna’s arm and disappeared with her down the hall. The secretary told me the crazy lady's name was Granger."

"She just jabbed you in the side?" Sirius asked curiously.

Draco turned red. "I farted rainbow bubbles that sang muggle showtunes for the next hour," he mumbled. "I had to lock myself in an empty office. I was just about to floo to St. Mungos or pierce my own eardrums when it finally stopped."

Sirius and Harry busted out laughing. Draco just scowled. Turning to Sirius, Draco demanded, "Is there a reason you're in our office? Or are you just here to torment me? Don't forget that I still have the ear of my mother."

Chuckles dying down, Sirius straightened in his seat. "I actually am here on business. I wanted to know if your office found out anything more about the sign that fell on Harry and me at lunch today." By the end of his words, Sirius was frowning.

Pulling a file out from a stack on the corner of his desk, Harry flipped it open. "So far it looks like simple negligence and bad luck. The owner claims that his maintenance spells aren't due for renewal for three more months and that they should have prevented the accident. His maintenance records are conveniently missing.”

Harry looked up sardonically. “However, just last week the Department of Magical Sports cited the owner for hosting bar games using equipment with expired safety charms. The investigator in charge thinks it likely that his exterior spells were also expired and he's just trying to avoid the additional charges of negligence and endangering the public."

"Is Ms. Delacour going to sue?" Draco asked.

Sirius shrugged. "I didn't ask. She doesn't strike me as the type, but Harry here knows her better." They turned and looked at Harry for an answer.

"Not that much better, but I doubt she'd think to," Harry said. "She wouldn't want the attention even if she did think of it."

Nodding, Sirius put his hands on his knees and stood up. "I'm just glad you and Hermione were there to prevent a tragic accident. I want that shopkeeper prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law," he demanded with an angry scowl. "Let me know if they need me to give another statement or put pressure on somebody to make that happen. I don't want him getting away with a slap on the wrist." That was the war veteran and deputy minister speaking, not Harry's godfather and Draco's cousin.

"You can be sure of that," Harry said, just as seriously. "I'm not prepared to let this get swept under a rug either. Gabrielle could have died."

“Good,” Sirius nodded. With that assurance, he returned to his office. Draco and Harry got back to work.

Around 5:30, Draco stood up and stretched. "I have a dinner appointment, so I'm off. Let me know if you need me to come back in."

"I will," Harry said, only half paying attention as he jotted down another sentence with his quill.

"Don't stay all night and skip dinner," Draco chided as he walked out. "You know that makes you a cranky boy."

Harry didn't bother to respond verbally. His hand gesture was eloquent enough.


	16. Japanese Takeout

Rubbing tired eyes, Harry looked up at the clock on his office wall. Lunch had been a long time ago. The first and longest set of hands pointed to the time, 7:04 pm. The second, middle-sized set of hands pointed to the weather in the four quadrants of the British Isles. The third and shortest hand was set for his dad, though it didn't have his name or any other betraying identifier. Just a long, curly black arm that reminded Harry of his godfather's twisting dark hair.

Right after becoming an Auror, Harry had accidentally let slip that he still suffered from nightmares of Sirius dying. His Dad had thrown an arm around his shoulder and changed the subject to something more lighthearted. A few days later though, the extra hand on the clock appeared after Harry stepped out on a case. They hadn't talked about it, but Harry had felt less anxiety over his dad ever since. 

As if thinking about him conjured his presence, Sirius’s tall form appeared in the office doorway and knocked on the frame. “Hey Harry, I’m headed off for home. Don’t stay forever and don’t forget to eat something. You know that makes you broody and cranky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said with an arm wave. “Have a good night. You’ll need your beauty sleep for the women Narcissa plans to introduce you to. I hear she has color coded folders.” Sirius shuddered, but didn’t look surprised.

Harry leaned back in his chair and smirked. “I’m having tea with her and Draco in a few days. I’m sure we’ll talk a-a-ll about it.”

“That’s a vile betrayal of the bachelor code,” Sirius said, beetling his brows as he pointed an angry finger. “You just wait. I’ll get my vengeance on both of you yet.”

“I won’t be holding my breath,” Harry said with a smirk.

Shaking his head, Sirius repeated, “Just you wait. I’ve got all sorts of stories saved up about you. I’ll have to share them with my dear friend Hermione.” Smirking, he turned with a wave and disappeared towards the lift.

Harry took the file he’d just finished updating and stood up. He walked it to the file room and returned to his office. As Harry watched, the curly arm representing Sirius moved from _at work_ into a gentle spin, bypassing _none of your business, eating out, mortal peril,_ and _bored - send help!_ until finally it stopped on _at home_.

Perhaps Harry should leave too, but he didn't have anything at home to look forward to. He'd rather just stay and work. He needed to add Ms. Moreau’s report from the Department of Magical Sports to finish off his current file on a case of muggle-baiting by magical tourists visiting from Russia. Just to be thorough, he also wanted to double-check the incident report on the sign that almost fell on Gabrielle today to see if anything new had been added. He still had both files on the corner of his desk.

On the other hand, he might as well review his notes on Teddy's kidnapping again first. He had it memorized by now, but he still hoped some detail would pop out at him. They didn’t have anything else to go on right now. Better ignorance than a body, but Harry desperately wanted to find Teddy alive and well. He didn’t want to get to the point where he hoped for a body just to have some sort of closure.

Technically Draco was lead on the Lupin kidnapping case, since Harry was Teddy’s godfather. There could be bias because of Harry’s relationship. However, Harry liked to point out that Draco was a cousin to Teddy too, even if Draco wasn't as close to him as Harry. Of course, Draco and Teddy weren’t close only because Draco felt uncomfortable around small children.

However, neither of them trusted anyone else with the case. They’d badgered the head of the DMLE to let them have it. Citing Draco’s well-known disdain of children, the head Auror finally decided it would be enough to keep him unbiased and had approved their request with the promise that they’d leave her alone.

Being that Draco had been a spoiled brat for most of his childhood and teenage years until his father’s demise, he tended to assume most children were just as awful no matter what polite mask the child put on. After all, he’d pointed out, the worse the child the better they were at dissembling. Draco also hated to self-reflect on his past and children brought that out in him. Some days it drove Harry nuts, but he went along with it because he knew that Draco still cared.

Draco was trying just as hard as Harry to find Teddy Lupin. While Harry scoured the files and talked to all the neighbors and friends, Draco sifted through the gossip in street clubs and private drawing rooms. They each had their areas of expertise.

Stomach grumbling, Harry opened his bottom drawer, pushed the folders to the front, and pulled out a slightly squished bag of crisps from his emergency stash. The expiration date on the bag was from two months ago, but Harry just shrugged his shoulders. He'd eaten worse.

As he pulled open the bag, orange words scrolled across the top edge of the package and a high-pitched little voice piped, “I'm not going to taste as good, Sir! I've lost the vitality of youth! Please save your taste buds and go buy a new bag! Don't judge my brand by the flavors found in this bag! Buy new bags for a happy tongue and happy tummy! I'm not going to taste as good, Sir! Please save your tastebuds-”

Realizing that he'd actually listened all the way through the expiration message until it started repeating itself, Harry shook his head sharply and told himself to focus. He folded back the edge of the bag, cutting off the protesting little voice. Then he reached in and pulled out a crisp. Despite his hunger, it didn't look all that appetizing.

"Hello?" a hesitant female voice said from the doorway.

Harry looked up, prepared to fire off a fresh air spell and snap something uncomplimentary if Prunellie Moreau was coming by to deliver another social invitation. But it wasn’t Prunellie. It was Hermione. Harry’s sour mood turned 180 degrees, almost like pulling out of a steep dive on a broom to soar up into the clouds with a golden snitch clutched firmly in your fingers.

"Hermione," he smiled involuntarily, "what's a big hero like you still doing at work this late?" He glanced over at the clock, surprised to see that it was 7:45.

"I could ask a big hero like you the same question," she said sardonically, swinging a bag back and forth in her hand as she strolled into his office and up to his desk.

Shrugging, Harry said, "I'm still going through some paperwork."

"It never seems to end, does it," Hermione commiserated.

Something moved in the doorway behind Hermione. It might have been a figure. Harry turned his head to look, but he didn’t see anyone there anymore. He shrugged and refocused on Hermione.

"I was just leaving to go pick up a late dinner when I ran into Sirius in the atrium. He told me you were still here, so I decided to take a gamble and order enough for two." She lifted up the bag. "Would you care to join me?" A nervous but hopeful smile lingered on her face.

Stacking his folders neatly to the side to clear a patch on his desk, Harry said, "It depends on if you’re willing to beg. After all, I might have to turn you down for this very exciting bag of crisps." Holding it up, the edge unfolded enough for the bag to start singing its expiration song again. Annoyed, Harry firmly folded it back down.

Hermione smothered a laugh against her fist. "It'll be hard to compete against expired crisps, but instead of begging, I’ll use the sights and smells of these delectable cartons of Japanese cuisine to bribe you." She placed the bag on the edge of his desk and began unpacking it.

"Bribing an officer of the law, Ms. Granger? Tsk tsk,” Harry said with false disapproval. Then his stomach let out an embarrassing gurgle. He blushed and they laughed together. “Very well, I give in. Consider me at your mercy!”

“Excellent,” Hermione said with an arched brow and twirl of an imaginary mustache. Then she started listing off the cartons of food. "We have rice and miso soup, of course, along with a green salad with sesame dressing. There's also a small okonomiyaki with sauce, I call at least half of that, onigiri stuffed with umeboshi, assorted sushi, a random curry donut since Sirius said you like them, melon bread, choux creams, and sakura mochi for dessert. I grabbed some Gokuri grapefruit juice to drink, but since I wasn't sure you'd like it, I also have bottled water."

Harry licked his lips. “It all looks delicious, but I have an embarrassing secret to admit."

Scooting the visitor's chair up to the side of his desk, Hermione sat down. "Both secret and embarrassing? Then you definitely have to tell me."

Shrugging, he admitted, "Despite my love of curry doughnuts, I've never eaten most of the stuff you brought with you."

Hermione smiled. "Then in addition to learning about each other, you can learn about Japanese food tonight. My friend Hoshimi used to take me to the most amazing little restaurants in France. I’d be the only non-Japanese person in sight. We’d get menus entirely in kanji, hiragana, and katakana, with not a lick of English. Hoshimi would have to order for me, but I've never had better food in my life. Luckily for you, I was an ardent pupil and quickly learned the language so I could order for myself."

Handing him a pair of chopsticks, Hermione paused awkwardly. "You do know how to use chopsticks, don't you?"

 


	17. Harry & Hermione Share Dinner

 

_Handing him a pair of chopsticks, Hermione paused awkwardly. "You do know how to use chopsticks, don't you?"_

"Nope," Harry shook his head ruefully.

"Oh, well then," Hermione said, a bit flustered. "Well, I can try to transfigure it into a fork. I'm sure a spell like that should be easy to figure out, even though I've never needed a fork that badly before." She bit her lip endearingly and tilted her head to the side in thought.

Shaking his head, Harry smiled. "Don't worry about it. I can try the chopsticks and if it gets too hard, I'll just go steal a fork from the break room."

Hermione smiled back. "Here, I think they gave me a chopstick clip at least. Those help beginners a lot." She fished one out of the bottom of the bag and handed it over to Harry.

As they ate, Hermione explained the importance of seasonality in Japanese cuisine, the fact that eating sakura mochi in summer was a bit of a cheat but that she loved it too much to care, the origins of the cherry blossom festival, and the prevalence of French bakeries in Japanese commuter stations. Harry found her breadth of knowledge both astounding and charming. In a moment of self-reflection, he felt relieved that he had enough life experience and maturity to appreciate her intelligence instead of feeling intimidated by it.

Harry then found himself telling her all about Hogwarts. They bonded over the experience of transitioning from the mundane world into the magical one. Harry described his delight over his first ever taste of butterbeer and the awe of using a wand for the first time. Then he made Hermione giggle when he admitted to sneaking around the castle and gasp at his descriptions of the holiday decorations and feasts created by the castle’s house elves.

Sometimes Harry focused too much on all of the hard things that had happened to him while at school. He’d gained a lot of scars during his teenage years. He’d lost a lot of his innocence.

However, there had been happy times too. At Hogwarts he’d first learned the thrill of using magic and flying a broom. He'd learned the incalculable value of good friends. Because of those friends, he’d been able to save his godfather, which had led to Sirius adopting him and becoming his father in truth. Harry surprised himself by telling Hermione about it. Usually he didn’t like to talk so much about himself and his past.

Pausing to take another sip of his Gokuri grapefruit juice, he swished the sweet and pulpy grapefruit drink around his tongue and swallowing with a contented sigh. He'd had pulpy orange juice, but never any other kind of pulpy juice. He liked it.

On the other hand, he’d only liked about half of the sushi. An octopus sucker had gotten stuck in his teeth and weirded him out. The rest of the food had tasted really good though. He and Hermione had even had a mock fight with their chopsticks over the last slice of okonomiyaki. She’d won, but been magnanimous in her victory and cut her piece in half.

Sighing, Hermione pushed around a slice of pink pickled ginger around on her plate. "I sometimes wonder how my life would be different if I'd gone to Hogwarts. I've read Hogwarts: a History twice, you know. It’s absolutely absorbing. I've always wanted to visit. It seems like a fascinating place, though perhaps not as safe or academically rigorous as a premier wizarding school really should be. I probably wouldn’t have gotten as many OWLs."

"It would have been fun to grow up with you. I'm sure we would have been friends. I bet you'd have been sorted into Gryffindor like me, considering your daring," Harry said musingly.

Hermione smiled but shook her head. "I'm a bookworm, don't fool yourself. I’m not that brave or that rowdy. I’ve heard stories from the Weasley twins about their pranks that practically turned my hair white. No, I’d probably have gone into Ravenclaw. Still, it's fun to think about sometimes. I would have liked having a friend like you at school, though I’d have made it my mission to earn so many points for my house that all your Griffindor wins would have been jeopardized."

They shared a laugh, but then Hermione’s eyes laughter unexpectantly trailed off. "But then again, if I hadn't been in France, I wouldn't have been there that day or known what to do. That’s a radical thought, but still… just as well I didn't go to Hogwarts," she murmured to herself.

"I hadn't thought of that," Harry said. Hermione looked up at him in surprise, perhaps too lost in memories to realize she'd spoken aloud. "If you hadn't been in France to tell Sirius about that spell, we wouldn't have been able to find and kill Voldemort without a lot more casualties."

Hermione shrugged and looked away uncomfortably. "Yes, that too," she said.

Confused by what she meant, Harry was about to ask for clarification when Hermione pointed to one of the picture frames on the corner of his desk and asked, "Who's that?"

The picture had an exhausted but happy looking couple holding a baby. As Harry stared at the picture, the woman's hair changed from brown to pink and a pig nosed winked into existence for just a second. Harry’s mouth quirked. "That's Remus Lupin and Tonks, just a few weeks after Teddy’s birth. Remus was one of my father's and Sirius's best friends. He became my friend too, him and Tonks both. They named me Teddy's godfather just a few months before they were killed in the final battle with Voldemort."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, reaching out to lay her fingers softly on his hand.

Harry swallowed thickly, but didn't pull away from her touch.

"Is Teddy a metamorphmagus like his mother? Or does he take more after his father?" Hermione asked gently.

Harry gave a broken laugh. "The rascal has a little bit of both. He's six now. When he tries really hard he can change his features, but otherwise he has his father's hair and his mother's eyes, just like me. Both of us were orphaned by Voldemort's war, but I was so determined that he'd have a better childhood than I did. I just wanted him to grow up happy and safe."

Turning his face away, Harry slipped his hand out from Hermione’s hold and wiped his eyes, trying to get himself back under control.

Coming around the desk, Hermione crouched down and waited for Harry to look at her.  "What's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked compassionately.

"Unless you can tell me how to change that spell you gave Sirius to track a missing child who’s not connected to a horcrux , I don't think you can do anything," Harry said with a bitter laugh.

Hermione turned white and jerked back in shock. "I can't," she choked out.

Ashamed at himself, Harry looked away from her face and got up to pace. She didn't deserve his bad mood. He hadn't meant to say that or to have her react so strongly.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, still not looking over. "Perhaps it will make more sense when I tell you that Teddy was kidnapped right out of his house three weeks ago, just a few days after the full moon. We've run down all of our leads and are left with nothing but echoing silence. I'm his godfather, a senior auror in line to be Head Auror, and the freaking savior of the wizarding world, yet I can't find one little boy!"

Dropping his head, Harry rubbed the back of his neck and pushed his roiling emotions down. "Sorry, it's just hard. Drinking doesn’t help either, as you’ve already witnessed."

Finally looking up, he saw Hermione standing frozen by his desk. Her mouth was slightly open with her tongue tucked behind her teeth. She stared blankly at his desk. He could see the pulse pounding in her neck.

Listening to him rant couldn’t have been pleasant. They barely knew each other. She’d come up for a nice meal and he’d just unloaded his mess on top of her. He’d probably brought up traumatic memories of Gabrielle being kidnapped all those years ago too. _What an awful way to treat the woman you liked_ , Harry thought, angry at himself.

Suddenly a line of red ran down from Hermione’s nose and dripped off her lip to land on the open folders shoved across his desk. A second later she sagged and brought her hand up to pinch her bleeding nose. "I'm so sorry," she said wretchedly, tears standing in her eyes. She only met Harry’s gaze for a moment before she looked away in shame. “I hope you find him soon.”

Striding forward, Harry grabbed a few tissues from the box on Draco's desk and offered them to Hermione. "It is what it is," Harry said. "And don't worry about the bloody nose. It happens. Sometimes the heating and cooling charms start to malfunction and dry out the air in the office. You wouldn't believe the complaining last winter when Draco got two nosebleeds the first week of winter."

Hermione took the tissues and quickly wiped her face before pressing them to her nose. Harry used his wand to vanish the red blood spattered over the scattered folders of today's accident and Teddy's kidnapping. The folders weren’t stacked neatly to the side as he'd left them during dinner, but were open and spread out across the desk.

They'd probably been knocked into when Harry jumped up to pace. That or Hermione had knocked them over somehow. It didn't really matter why they were spread out. Luckily Harry knew a lot of good spells to get out blood stains.

Uninterested in working any longer, Harry cleaned up their dinner. They closed up his office and walked down to the atrium together. The room was practically deserted at this hour.

Just before Hermione grabbed a pinch of floo powder, Harry blurted out, "Hermione?" She turned and looked at him. "Thank you for dinner and the company. I really enjoyed it."

Thinking that this had been a lot easier when he was only halfway sober, Harry leaned forward slowly. When she didn’t back away, he gently kissed her. Their lips clung for a moment before separating slowly.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he breathed against her mouth.

She stepped back with an inexplicably helpless look on her face. "Goodnight, Harry." Then she turned, grabbed a pinch of floo powder, and disappeared into the flames.


	18. Hermione’s Morning

 

“Beep beep beep bee-,” Hermione reacted with a spike of wandless magic. Her magical alarm clock yelped an “ouch!” and then became silent. Although she kept her eyes closed and ignored the hair covering her nose, it didn’t help. She felt well and truly awake now.

Mornings made her want to take up life as an after-school tutor. Then she remembered that most such tutors were hired by delusional and demanding parents of stupid and entitled brats. It would just be a different kind of misery, even with the extra sleep.

Opening her eyes with a groan, she rolled over and let her legs hang off the bed. This state lasted for about thirty seconds. Then gravity finally assisted her in falling out onto the floor.

After picking herself up, she took her blurry eyes and bushy hair to the bathroom, leaving the light off as long as possible. Hermione went through her morning routine, keeping her mind as blank as possible. Bubbles of anxiety and despair tried to rise to the surface, but she did her best to ignore them. She had too many things she didn’t want to think about today.

A few minutes later she came out with her hair tamed and dressed for work. In the kitchen, she curled up at her two-seater table with a cup of lavender chamomile tea and an English muffin. She wasn’t really hungry, but she needed the normalcy of her daily routine.

The events from six years ago were coming back to haunt her. She didn’t know what else to do. Always being on the defensive felt awful, but what other choice did she have? She’d spent years trying to fix this problem with no success.

_How could she protect her loved ones?_ Hermione choked back a bitter laugh at her own delusions. _What a stupid thought._ _She couldn’t even protect herself._ The way things were going, she’d never be able to help Harry either, much less give him the full truth _._

Stubbornness made her try to contemplate a homicide. Her planning only lasted for a few seconds. Then, just like all the other times, a crippling headache descended like a hammer of lightning to bolt straight into her eye and arch agonizingly across her skull.

Quickly leaning over to the side, Hermione vomited the little bit of breakfast she’d managed to consume onto the floor. For a few seconds she managed to gasp in some air. Then she convulsed again. Cold shudders wracked her body and made her limbs twitch unpleasantly. Laying her head on the table, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the pain.

In her mind, she forcefully brought up the picture of Harry’s pleased smile at seeing her last night. Their impromptu dinner date had been a rousing success, at least until the last bit. Veering away from negativity, she focused on her pleasure at introducing Harry to Japanese food.

Conversation had flowed easily. Harry used his hands a lot while talking. She loved his hands. They caressed and molded the air as he talked, drawing pictures of his years at Hogwarts and his life as an Auror. His stories had also revealed what it felt like to go from being an unwanted orphan to the beloved son of Sirius Black in private and the famous Harry Potter in public.

His hands had a few random scars scattered across the knuckles and backs, but they looked solid, safe, and trustworthy. Those hands would cradle babies safely and leave flower petals unbruised. Yet they would also hold your hand tight in the dark to keep you from getting lost. They would fight off fears. They would, and had, fought off demons.

Several times Hermione had had to remind herself to keep her thoughts on his words, because she kept remembering the feel of those hands cupping her face and threading through her hair as they kissed. Harry was a stellar kisser. Having both amazing hands and lush lips really was unfair.

It wasn’t just the physical attraction, though.

As they’d talked during dinner, Harry had really listened to her. He seemed interested in her stories and open to sharing his own. They’d had more in common than she’d expected. Last night she felt like she’d started getting to know the real Harry and not just the myth of Harry Potter. She liked what she’d seen and wanted to see more, a lot more.

Maybe one day Harry would decide he’d seen enough of Hermione. Until then, though, she decided to enjoy it. It didn’t matter if she deserved his attention. She had it right now and she wasn’t going to throw that away.

Other people cared about her too. Her parents loved her, even if they didn’t always understand or approve of her. She’d hoped to spend more time with them by moving here, but they’d taken off for the year to set up charity clinics in Eastern Europe. At least her dad had been happy that she’d finally moved back to Britain instead of continuing to linger in France. They could catch up next year, her mother had promised.

Hermione also had the love of her Delacour cousins. Although she and Fleur didn’t always see eye-to-eye, they both valued their relationship and loved each other despite their differences. Hermione loved being an honorary aunt to Victoire and Dominique.

Gabrielle also needed her protection now more than ever, even if her protections were anemic at best. More than that, though, Gabrielle needed her support and companionship. Hermione wanted to be there for her.

Plus, she’d just rediscovered Sirius. Despite their age difference, he’d been the one bright light in her darkest, most despairing hour. It made her feel so happy to know that she’d helped him and Harry defeat Voldemort. Now she had no need to keep justify being in France instead of fighting in England during the war. The niggling guilt she always tried to deny would no longer plague her. Hopefully she’d have the chance to get to know Sirius again.

Opening her eyes, Hermione still felt weak, but no longer about to faint or vomit. She lifted her head from the table carefully. Then she pulled out her wand and systematically cleaned up the kitchen and freshened the air. She forced herself to take two bites of her bread and a few sips of the herbal tea to help settle her stomach. Then she vanished her breakfast. When everything looked sparkling clean, she set the kitchen to making dark cocoa.

While that heated, she disappeared back into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Although she utilized teeth cleaning charms every day, sometimes she found comfort in the simple act of using a tooth brush. It reminded her of being young and unconditionally loved. It made her feel warm and in control. Right now, she needed that.

After rinsing out her mouth, she changed her robes. Then she went back to the kitchen. Pouring herself a mug of aromatic peppermint dark hot chocolate, she took it to the armchair by her living room window and sat down. A quick flick of her wand set a nearby book of poetry fluttering open to hover in the air. Another flick turned on the auto-read option.

Leaning back, Hermione took a sip of peppermint cocoa and let it slowly coat her tongue as she listened to the author read the poem out loud. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the beauty of words and gave herself permission to drift off for just a little bit.

* * *

 

"Ahem," coughed Mr. Mawhinney as Hermione walked by his desk to fetch her mail. Not up to a confrontation after her crappy morning, she decided to ignore the secretary unless he deigned to actually speak instead of just clearing his throat in her direction. She pulled out six new research requests, easily double that found in anyone else's mailbox, and tucked them under her arm.

As she walked past Mawhinney’s desk again on her way to her office, she kept her eyes straight ahead, even though she could see him staring at her expectantly from the corner of her eye. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he gave in to her power play. "Excuse me, Miss Granger?" he said.

She felt a surge of satisfaction and didn’t care that it was petty. Sometimes you had to take small victories wherever you could. Hermione turned on her heel and pasted a surprised look on her face. "Yes? Can I help you with something, Arran?"

Sour faced, he said, "The boss wants to see you at 10:15 in his office."

Cocking her head to the side, she asked, "Did he say what it's about?"

His expression turned grumpy, "No, I was just told to pass on the message." Then his lips twisted in a cruel smile. “But you’re probably in trouble. He didn’t look happy to hear you weren’t in yet and that he’d have to fit you in during his morning break.”

Considering her life lately, Hermione had a bad feeling about this. "It’s only three minutes past eight,” Hermione protested. Then she realized the futility of looking for understanding from this man.

“Fine, I'll make sure to be there," she acknowledged grumpily. The secretary just sniffed and went back to his work. Hermione went into her office and closed the door. She considered placing a repelling charm on the doorframe, but someone was sure to notice and complain about it.

Two hours later, she packed up her books and notes. Once her desk looked tidy, she made sure to stretch and go through a breathing exercise until she felt centered and calm. Hermione considered eating a preemptive chocolate, but she'd been eating too much this week. Her stash was getting low. If she wasn’t more judicious with her snacking, she’d start putting on weight. That would just give the rumors more fuel. Shaking the tension from her wrists one last time, she left her office and walked down the hall to see her manager.

Mr. Bulstrode, a large man of at least 113, had a knack for acquiring old and rare family histories, no matter how the owners initially protested letting them go. People didn't ask a lot of questions about how he got those books, which made Hermione a bit uncomfortable.  

He also made it his mission to create as much beauracratic paperwork as possible. Hermione had read up on the publically available documents referencing the department before accepting the job here. Even for her, all of those forms had been dull reading.

Under his direction the department of Spell Recovery always had work and never had trouble. Although he lacked imagination and daring, he could usually be persuaded to let his researchers try out new things as long as it was within the rules and wouldn't cause a scandal if something went wrong. He hated scandal.

For at least 15 years he'd been trying to get promoted to head the joint department of spell creation and recovery, but Hermione could see why he'd failed. He didn't have the temperament to accept the risks and costs involved with spell creation, nor did he have the flexibility of thought required. His prejudices were stuck in the last century. Luna had also let slip that the people in Spell Creation had threatened to transfer Departments if he got the job. They refused to be governed by shady-old-stick-in-the-mud Bulstrode.

Hermione reached his office at exactly 10:14 am, a full minute early. She knocked politely at the door. After a quick glance at the clock, Mr. Bulstrode harrumphed and went back to writing. Stifling the urge to roll her eyes, she stood in the doorway and tried to find something to look at besides his liver-spotted pate and wispy white hair. She refused to let him make her feel inferior.

The clock hand finally clicked over to 10:15. Only then did he put down his pen and lift his head to look at Hermione from beneath bushy white brows. "Miss Granger," he grumbled, "right on time. Please come in and sit down." He gestured to the horribly uncomfortable wooden chair centered in front of his desk.

Sitting down, Hermione pulled out a notebook and self-inking quill and looked up expectantly. "What can I help you with today, Mr. Bulstrode?" She made sure not to touch the chair with any patch of bare skin, as it liked to leave splinters.

Beetling his brows, Bulstrode looked her up and down and scowled. "I've been hearing stories about you. It's bringing scandal and disgrace on our department. I'm not happy about this, Miss Granger, not happy at all."

Although she wanted to jump up out of her chair and storm off in a huff, Hermione forced herself to take a breath first and think. Then she crinkled her brow and said with a forced air of innocence, "I'm not sure what you're talking about sir. Perhaps people are feeling threatened by my intelligence and hard work? I know I'm receiving double the work requests of anyone else on the team from outside departments. Despite that, I'm still managing to log enough internal work to improve the productivity of the entire division by 46%. I anticipate that number increasing even more for next quarter. I don't see why you would be upset at me for doing the job I was hired to do."

Taken aback, Mr. Bulstrode gaped for a moment. "How do you know that?"

"I read the quarterly reports for the last five years before taking the job, of course, and I compared them with the two reports generated since I started working here," Hermione replied smartly. "I regret that some people can't be mature about their own limitations, but I hope you agree with me that it is better for the department if I'm allowed to do my best instead of holding myself back from finishing work because it might make others resentful and jealous."

Floundering for a moment, he said, "Well, yes, of course I want what's best for the department."

"Excellent," Hermione interrupted, "if that's all, Sir?" She began to stand up from the painfully hard wooden chair.

"No, actually I do need to discuss something else with you, Miss Granger," he said, recovering enough to point accusingly. “Sit back down.”

Internally sighing, Hermione sank back into the seat and tried to keep her expression placid.

Placing his hands flat against his desk, he leaned forward. "I've been hearing gossip about you and a stay in a mental hospital in France. Well, what do you have to say about that? It’s a scandal!" He pounded one meaty fist on his desk.

Only by focusing on the strange stain on the wall behind his bulky form did Hermione keep her face smooth. "I'm afraid I must decline to engage in gossip, Sir."

Mr. Bulstrode huffed in anger. "That is not an acceptable answer, Miss Granger. Are you even stable enough to work on dangerous spell research? I am concerned about everyone's safety. Even worse, everyone is currently watching our department with prurient curiosity. Another manager even asked me if I’d suspected and cast doubts on my leadership. I won't have it!" He pounded his fist on the desk again, making his cup of quills rattle and his ink jar skitter to the edge of his desk.

Refusing to cower, Hermione clasped her hands in her lap and kept her head up. "I'd rather not have it either, if you must know. Such gossip demeans both of us. I sympathize with your position, as I was manager of my department at the Parisian Institute. I took a demotion to come and work here in Britain to be closer to family. However,” she lifted her chin, “in regards to safety, I must point out that my research has not caused a single case of injury during my six months working here and my five years in France. Most of my colleagues cannot say the same.”

Only pausing briefly to take a breath, she continued. "I'd also like to point out that no flags were raised during my initial interview or in the newly instated employee psychiatric evaluation when I was hired. According to the third chapter, fifth page in the newest edition of the employee handbook, those interviews serve to specifically exclude any personalities deemed unsafe for the work in their specific department. As I passed without even a follow-up visit, I think that should tell you quite clearly that the professionals find your fears unfounded."

"Furthermore," she added, "my work has been exemplary and department output has increased beyond your wildest projections. I know because I read your projected numbers in the public report you submitted when requesting a budget increase to hire me. Think of the gaping hole my departure would leave and the questions people would be asking you about why work orders have drastically slowed down and why your department can no longer keep up despite your recently granted budget increase. Such a thing could lead to censure, budget cuts, and even demotions."

Paling, Bulstrode wilted back in his chair.

"Finally, there is nothing in my contract that says I am expected to refute slanderous gossip. If there is someone who has a legitimate grievance with me, I am of course willing to meet with that person and Human Resources to discuss it. I have no doubts about my innocence. I also know what the terms of my contract do and do not protect me from." Hermione raised her eyebrow and stared her boss down.

Twisting in his seat, Mr. Bulstrode blustered for a few sentences, but finally trailed off unhappily. Hermione just stared at him with cool composure. "Very well, Miss Granger. You are dismissed, but do try to keep your dirty laundry in check. One more scandal and you are fired. I don't appreciate the department's reputation getting dragged through the mud. I won’t have it happen again."

With as much dignity as possible, Hermione stood up and turned to leave. Behind her back she heard him mutter, "I should have expected something like this from a mudblood."

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed, twisting back around. "What did you just say?"

Bulstrode glared back ungraciously. "I didn't say anything. You may leave, Miss Granger, and get back to work. That work is the only thing keeping you employed here."

Realizing that she had nothing to gain and only more to lose if she continued to press, Hermione crushed her notebook in her fist and marched back to her desk. She closed her office door softly and turned the lock. Seconds later she threw her notebook and mangled quill onto the floor. Then she cast a privacy charm on the room.

That done, she stomped into the middle of the room, threw back her head, and screamed at the top of her lungs in rage. Lack of breath forced her to stop. However, the frustration and anger weren’t spent yet. Hermione shook her fists in the air and shrieked again. Then she cancelled the spell and threw herself into her desk chair.

For a moment she almost jumped up again in anger as she realized someone had come into her office while she'd been gone. A tin sat in the middle of her previously empty desk. Hermione checked it for spells, but nothing glowed in warning. If this was another gift of flowers, she might have to do something violent.

Opening the tin cautiously, she found a pile of colorful French macarons. They looked exactly like the leftover cookies from Fleur's party. Hermione relaxed.

She had noticed that whenever Fleur had extra food from her parties, she quickly sent it out of the house to her extended family. Fleur didn’t want the temptation of extra sweets for herself or the children. Looking through the tin, she didn’t see the usual note, but Fleur must of forgotten. That or Hermione’s note had accidentally ended up with Ron Weasley. Nevertheless, it was nice to be thought of.

After the conversation with her boss, Hermione wasn't hungry. However, she didn't feel like working either. She no longer had the concentration for it. What she desperately needed right now was a friendly face.

Hopping up, she decided to go and visit Gabrielle. If asked, she’d say she wanted to see how her cousin was fitting in to her new job. Besides which, she wanted to make sure Gabrielle was alright after yesterday. Maybe she could get the other interns to agree to look out for her cousin too. Gabrielle would need all the help she could get.

 


	19. Office Visits

 

Harry and Draco had just gotten back from another fruitless interview at Teddy's school. Everyone wanted to help find Teddy, but they just didn't know anything. They'd gone back hoping someone remembered something new.

A few children remembered a strange woman watching them play through the fence in the week before Teddy's disappearance. She'd supposedly watched them for several days in a row during their morning recess.  Since the kids couldn't agree on what the woman looked like except for 'pretty and old,' which meant any age between 16 and 150 to six year olds, it didn't give Harry anything to follow up on. No one had seen the woman since. Sometimes he wished that he had a spell to take other people's memories and put them in a pensieve, but pensieves only worked when the person themselves cast the spell. That ruled out children, non-magicals, and hostile witnesses.

"Knock knock," said a voice Harry recognized from the doorway. Ron waited for Harry to meet his eyes before saying, "Do you have a minute to chat, mate? I was delivering something to Dad and thought I'd stop by."

"Sure," Harry said, glad for the break as he leaned back in his chair and stretched.

"I'm off for the tea trolly. Enjoy your chat." Draco stood up and walked to the door.

"Malfoy," Ron grunted.

Nodding coldly back, Draco drawled, "Weasley," and then left the room without looking back.

The two were civil because of Harry, but they still disliked each other. Their arguments could be epic, but luckily they'd learned to stop putting Harry into the middle of them. Instead they just avoided each other. Harry rather appreciated it and the decrease in drama.

"So how's business at the joke shop?" Harry asked his friend.

Ron grinned as he threw himself into the visitor's chair and sprawled. "Rather brilliant, actually. My new sales strategies have almost doubled our profits. Fred and George are still jerks half the time in that horribly mocking older brother way, but they've finally stopped treating me like a charity case and arguing with me at work. In fact, they've started implementing my suggestions with a minimum of fuss. Just yesterday they changed our ad in the Prophet as soon as I suggested it. It's nice to finally feel a little appreciated."

"That's great, Ron," Harry said with a smile.

Reaching into the pocket of his robes, Ron pulled out a bag and tossed it at Harry's face. Quickly reacting, Harry caught it before it could hit. Ron laughed as Harry sent him a scowl.

"Nice catch!" he teased. "That's a new packet of experimental sweets for our favorite shareholder to try out. The twins would love your feedback, especially on the juicy snitch candy. Best eat it outside, as it’s fast and drips everywhere. I also threw in a few of your favorites."

"Thanks," Harry said, "but Merlin's beard, Ron, one of these days you're going to actually hit me in the face and then I'm going to hex you so hard your hair turns white."

Licking his finger, Ron held it up in the air and turned back and forth. "Hmm, the temperature seems pretty stable in here. If that changes, I'll run for cover, but until then I'm not too worried. Besides, I can take you," Ron boasted.

Raising his eyebrow, he asked, "Oh really?" For a moment Harry pretended that Ron was a violent criminal he'd just cornered. Harry stared him down.

Shivering involuntarily,  Ron moaned, "Blimey Harry, you're no fun. Fine! On a good day! I can take you on a good day and with a lot of dirty tricks."

Relaxing back into his chair, Harry smirked.

"But just for that, I'm totally going to nail you in the kisser next time," Ron muttered.

"Seeker reflexes," Harry boasted.

"Speaking of," Ron sat forward, "what happened yesterday with you and Gabrielle? I heard from both Percy, his girlfriend, and from Lav that you heroically swept Gabrielle up and saved her from sudden death, then held her in your arms in a move worthy of a romance novel cover. Lav practically swooned. I thought Gabrielle was too young for you? And was someone really trying to kill her?"

After Harry explained that it was just an accident, Ron shook his head in disbelief. "You have simultaneously the best and the worst luck in the world, Harry, but what about you and Gabrielle? Were you really on a lunch date?"

Sighing, Harry explained, "I actually had lunch with Sirius, Gabrielle, and Hermione Granger. It wasn't a date, and if it was, I'm actually interested in Hermione, not Gabrielle."

Ron's mouth fell open. "Seriously? I mean, she's got that hot librarian thing going on, but once she opens her mouth she becomes a boring know-it-all, still librarian, but much less hot."

Annoyed, Harry said, "I think she's interesting. I really like her, okay?"

"Fine," Ron said, sitting back with a disbelieving shrug, "but I'm telling you, she's mental. I tried asking her out when we first met and she acted like I was a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe. Plus I heard a rumor on my way over that she spent years locked up in a loony bin over in France after casting an illegal blood spell and then trying to kill herself. That makes her literally mental and criminal to boot. I’d watch out, Harry. Mum doesn't like her either."

"Well luckily I don't want her dating either you or Molly, I want her dating me. It doesn’t matter if she had some problems in the past. All that matters is how she’s coping with things now. Besides, I doubt that most of the rumors you heard are true. You know how gossip is. If I have any say, she'll very shortly be my girlfriend, so lay off with the insults and talk about her with a bit of respect," Harry demanded.

Disgruntled, Ron said, "Fine, I'll work on it."

"Besides," Harry said, "we only met because you dragged me to the party Sunday night. If we get together, it'll be thanks to you."

"Well," Ron said with a strange look on his face, "depending on how this all turns out, I'll have to decide whether to be disgusted or proud of that fact. Let's just talk about sports instead of girls until Malfoy gets back. Then I'll take off."

They chatted for about five minutes more about the latest quidditch rumors. Then Draco returned and shot Ron an annoyed look. "And that's my cue to leave," Ron said wryly. "Catch you later, Harry." Tossing him a wave, he stood up and left.

* * *

 

Climbing the stairs to go and visit Gabrielle, Hermione forced herself to ignore the searching looks. However, she did find herself walking quicker than normal. By the time she got to the fourth floor she was puffing and knew her face must be red. The exertion had helped to burn off some of her ire though. Hopefully it had also burned off some chocolate.

A helpful signboard directed her to the intern offices. Hermione found an earnest young man who introduced himself as Gordon kneeling on the floor reorganizing a filing cabinet. She only had to mention Gabrielle's name, her silvery blond hair, and their familial relationship to get him scrambling to his feet in his rush to help Hermione out.

"Wow, she’s your cousin? You don’t look it. Everyone knows Gabrielle," he gushed as he threaded them through the desks and cabinets crammed haphazardly throughout the room. "She's gorgeous," he sighed longingly.

"Yes, but she's also incredibly loyal and very clever," Hermione said repressively. "She didn't win this internship based on her looks, she got it based on the high quality of her application."

Gordon blushed. "Of course she's really smart too. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. I'm sorry." He looked like a scolded puppy. Hermione wondered if he was actually old enough to be out of school and working here. Nevertheless, she felt a little bit bad for crushing his spirits. She knew the effect her quarter-veela cousins had on males.

"If you want her to actually talk to you," she paused leadingly and Gordon leaned towards her to focus, "ask her about her passions, discuss her work, and don't mention her appearance unless she does something to draw attention to it herself. Then keep your compliments simple and tasteful."

"Really?" he swallowed and looked desperately hopeful. "Can it really be that simple?" Gordon looked so earnest.

"It is with most women," Hermione said with a smile. "Even if you don't hit it off with Gabrielle, try it on another woman and see. I'll bet it will earn you a new friend at the very least, and that’s a reward in and of itself."

Gordon paused by an open doorway and bobbed his head. "Thanks," he said. "Her desk is just through there."

Suddenly an annoyed voice called out, "Gordon, where is that file I was looking for? Are you on a bathroom break or what?"

"I've gotta get back. Bye, Miss Hermione," he said before rushing back through the maze of office furniture to return to his work. He bumped off the edge of a desk and then ricocheted into a trashcan. Picking both himself and the trashcan up, he glanced back, turned red, and ran from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the great reviews. I really appreciate them! Today is crappy for some reason. Boo struggles with mental health (though no, I have never been committed to a mental hospital. My mom used to work for one though.). I just bought 5 Torani flavor syrups for my soda pop as retail therapy. Hopefully this chapter will entice you and entertain you today too. This is the last calm chapter before the storm of everything coming to a head. Catch your breath and then enjoy the ride!


	20. Tiger Root Potion

 

Shaking her head, Hermione turned and went into the intern office. A pair of teens sat on a desk munching on cookies. Since they looked exactly like the French macarons on her desk downstairs, Hermione was pretty sure they were Gabrielle's.

"Hello," she said, "I'm looking for Gabrielle."

They froze mid-chew. "Those weren't your cookies, were they?" the dark-skinned boy asked faintly. The asian girl sitting next to him started guiltily brushing pink crumbs off her shirt as she swallowed.

"No, but I think Gabrielle’s sister sent them. I’m her cousin," Hermione explained with an amused smile. "Is Gabrielle around?"

"Sorry, she stepped out but should be back any moment," the girl answered, tucking a strand of straight black hair behind her ear. "I'm Sandy Hao and this is Tyrese Jackson."

Just then, Gabrielle glided into the room from a hidden door in the back. Hermione hadn't noticed it earlier. Sometimes the ministry building felt like a rabbit warren. It had doors and hallways in the most random of places.

"What are you doing with my cookies!?" Gabrielle cried crossly, marching marched forward and snatching the tin up into her arms protectively. "Hi Hermione," she threw out quickly before turning back to her coworkers. "You thieves!"

"We were hungry and there‘re more than enough to share," Sandy defended.

"Besides, you left it in plain sight on your desk. That's like an invitation." Leaning on the desk behind him, Tyrese shrugged. His dark curls bounced in perfectly tight spirals. Hermione tried not to feel curl envy. Her own genetic lottery left her curls looking more like an uneven frizz of blah unless she used three different potions on it weekly. Would a teenage boy feel weird if asked for hair tips?

"Of course I left it out," Gabrielle said defensively, "I didn't even get a chance to do more than open the lid before I got called away. I had to literally run down the hallway to catch that minister and get her to sign the file before she left for the day. That doesn't give you the right to just eat my macarons without asking!"

"Alright, I'm sorry. I'll ask next time," Tyrese said, suddenly contrite. He’d become slightly bedazzled by her cousin’s unconscious veela allure, if Hermione was any judge. "Don't be mad, please Gabrielle."

Sighing, Sandy said, "I'm sorry too. You can share some of my coconut rolls at lunch, alright?"

"Fine," Gabrielle said, "but since Tyrese didn’t bring lunch, he has to do my filing for the next hour."

"Aw man!" he griped. The girls laughed.

Then Gabrielle finally turned to her cousin, "What brings you up here, Hermione?"

Before Hermione could answer, Tyrese started coughing loudly. Crumbs spewed through the air before he managed to cover his mouth. It sounded like he was trying to bring up a hairball. Looking disgusted, Sandy handed him a tissue. “Are you a man or a cat?” she mocked as he covered his mouth but continued his strange coughing.

"I just came up for a quick visit and to see how you’re settling in to your office," Hermione said with a smile and a shrug. "No special reason."

Then Sandy abruptly began coughing as well. Tyrese knocked a pile of papers off the desk as he fell onto the floor, clutching at his throat and coughing so hard he didn’t seem to be getting any air. Both Tyrese and Sandy looked terrified as they struggled to breathe.

Shocked and horrified, Gabrielle and Hermione jumped forward to help. Unfortunately, pounding them on the back and turning them on their sides didn’t do any good. The two teens writhed within their grasp, barely breathing through the convulsive coughing.

"What’s going on?” Gabrielle asked fearfully. “And what is that?" she cried, pointing to the appearance of faint orange bands flickering along the ears of her coworkers.

Mind racing, Hermione realized she’d heard of something like this before. Her mind conjured up the image of an old potions manual she'd seen at an estate sale years ago. Mentally flicking through the pages, she finally found what she’d been looking for. "Deadly tiger root poison!" Hermione growled. "Get the healers, Gabrielle. There’s no time. Run!" The two victims were turning blue from lack of oxygen.

As Gabrielle raced from the room shouting for help, Hermione pushed the two teens back to back on the floor. She wanted them on their sides. Then she jumped to her feet.

First, she very carefully cast a spell to halt the absorption of anymore poison into their bloodstreams until a healer could get there. The delicate spell placed a weak ward along the lining of the intestines and stomach, stopping the movement of compounds out of the digestive system and into the bloodstream. If left too long it would be just as deadly as the poison itself, but it would buy time for the healers to get there.

Then she cast a stomach and esophageal reverse motility spell. The Weasley twins had actually taught her that one. She preferred her fancy title over their version: the violent vomit spell. Within seconds the two began spewing out the entire contents of their stomach onto the floor. Grimacing, Hermione swallowed and tried to keep herself from joining them. Kneeling down by their heads , she tried to make sure neither respirated vomit back into their lungs while at the same time trying to get out any remaining poison before it broke down. When the macaron chunks stopped coming and they were only bringing up bile, she finally cancelled the spell.

Help finally started pouring into the room right after scouring the mess into a nearby trashcan and cleansing the air. Sirius came first, followed by Harry and another woman Hermione didn't recognize. "What happened," Sirius demanded, dropping to a crouch by Sandy's side. After swiftly looking Hermione up and down for injuries, Harry acknowledged her head shake and moved over to check on Tyrese.

Seconds later, Gordon and Gabrielle came running in. They interrupted Hermione’s attempt to explain, followed by a man in healer robes. "What happened?" the healer demanded, immediately starting to cast diagnostic spells.

"I think they've been poisoned by ingesting tiger root potion," Hermione rushed out. "Their ears are showing the characteristic stripes and their coughing sounds similar to a hacking cat. I've used a spell to stop their body from absorbing anything and made them vomit. They were eating cookies when I came in just minutes ago and the poison is known to act rapidly and degrade quickly, so I assumed it was the cookies and did the best I could to help. I could be wrong about my diagnosis, but based on the symptomology it’s unlikely." Harry brushed his hand down her back in support and then returned to gently wiping Tyrese’s suffering face with a tissue.

Grim-faced, the healer looked up from his patients. "Good thinking, Ma'am. I've got to get these two to St. Mungos, but you've probably saved their lives." The healer cast another spell on the pair. Taking out a bottle, he then tipped a few drops into each victim's mouth. The coughing slowed down and their breathing started to stabilize. The healer waited for the oxygen diagnostic hovering above their heads to rise before standing.

"Is anyone else affected?" he asked.

"Just those two, I think," Hermione said before looking away from them to frantically search for her cousin. "Gabrielle, are you feeling alright?" she demanded.

Against the wall by the door, Gabrielle and Gordon huddled together in shock. Gabrielle clutched at Gordon's arm. "I'm fine," she said shakily. “I didn’t get a chance to eat any cookies.”

"Let us know the minute anything changes," Harry ordered.

Four more healers ran into the room and flicked open emergency stretchers. Health stabilizing runes were carved into the poles. They levitated the two victims up onto the stretchers as the first healer filled the rest in. One of them grabbed the trashcan with the vomit in it and started casting diagnostic spells. Another levitated a handful of the macarons into a bag. Then the healers bunched around their patients and activated an emergency portkey for the hospital. Seconds later they'd all disappeared.

"Did anyone else eat the poisoned macarons?" Sirius demanded into the sudden silence.

Hermione looked around blankly. "I don't know, Gabrielle?"

"I don't think so," she answered, subdued, "but I'm not sure. The tin was on my desk when I got back from our staff meeting. I'd only opened the lid when I got called away. When I returned, those two were eating my macarons and Hermione was waiting for me."

Harry turned and cast a stasis spell and then an isolation spell on the remaining cookies before closing the tin. Then he took out an evidence bag and put them inside. More aurors showed up while Gabrielle gave her explanation.

Harry turned to the new arrivals. "We need to take everyone's statements and search the office for anything else that might have been poisoned. We still haven't proven that the cookies were the source of the poison. I want to know where they came from and who sent them. We also haven't proven that it was the interns and not the deputy minister that was the target of this poisoning. I want him guarded and everything edible collected and tested by the lab ASAP!"

Turning to a blond man, he ordered, "Draco, don't let the Deputy Minister out of your sight."

Sirius sighed unhappily. "Come on, Malfoy. Let's go search my office and then we'll update the Minister."

"After you, Sir," Draco said as the two pushed through the crowd gawking in the doorway and left.


	21. Harry Tries to Stay Objective

 

As Harry’s people fanned out, Hermione suddenly remembered something important. "Harry," she said, demanding his attention.

Immediately he turned. "What?" he asked keenly.

"Someone left a box of cookies on my desk this morning too," Hermione swallowed uneasily. "I wasn't hungry so I didn't eat any. They didn't leave a note, but I assumed they came from Fleur since she had platters of similar macarons at her party on Sunday night."

Nodding sharply, Harry sent another group of aurors to search Hermione’s office downstairs.

Suddenly Gabrielle stepped away from Gordon and the wall. "Wait, what if the cookies did come from Fleur?" she asked frantically. "What if they poisoned her too?"

"It's unlikely, but I'll send someone to check up on her right now," Harry soothed. He turned, but all of his aurors were busy. “I need to stay until we’re sure this isn’t all part of a larger attack against the Deputy Minister,” he frowned. He wanted to go and check on Fleur himself, but if there were other attacks here he trusted himself the most to keep the Ministry safe. However, all of the aurors in sight already had urgent tasks.

"I can go," Gordon, one of the interns, squeaked bravely.

Harry was shaking his head before the boy even finished speaking. "I appreciate the offer, but you don't even know where the house is. I need everyone from this office to stay put. I’ll get more people from downstairs."

"Parvati and I can go and check up on them. They said that this poison works quickly so there’s no time to find someone downstairs," Lavender offered from the doorway. Harry had to blink for a moment in surprise at seeing her bright lime green robes. She wore a white jacket lined with what he could only assume was the previously mentioned purple-brown puce. It didn’t look _bad_ , just very startling. Parvati Patil stood just behind her shoulder in a much more reasonable puce and gold striped skirt with a forest green top… and if Harry hadn’t been in hyper-alert battle mode he never would’ve even noticed the colors of their ‘fashionable’ outfits.  

Lavender continued, "We were at the party and can apparate into their backyard. Although we're not aurors, we both fought in the war. You know we can take care of ourselves, Harry."

Making a split second decision, Harry nodded. He did trust them to act quickly and call for help if things got dangerous. Besides, Lavender had hexed Ron several times during their breakups, so he knew she had fast wand work.  Both women had trained with Harry during school. They could take care of themselves in a tight spot. It would also leave the other aurors to search the rest of the Ministry building for other threats. "Thanks, Lavender. I’ll send someone after you within the next five minutes. If I haven't heard from you in twenty, I'll come over with wand blazing, clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Lavender replied smartly with a salute and cheeky smirk. Harry barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Then she turned, grabbed Parvati's arm, and raced away, puce lined jacket flapping.

The next few hours passed quickly. Thankfully Fleur and the children were fine, but Bill showed up about ten minutes after Lavender’s report in to Harry. Bill had orders from his wife to come and sit with Gabrielle until she could come home. Eventually the Aurors cleared the building of threats and St. Mungos confirmed Hermione’s diagnosis of tiger root poison.

Harry and Draco were put in charge of the case. Draco was finishing up reviewing the last of the reports while Harry took Gabrielle’s statement. “Gabrielle, I have to ask one more question and then I’ll let you go. Could yesterday’s accident with the falling sign have been a deliberate attack? Are you absolutely sure you can’t think of anyone who hates your or wants to hurt you?”

Wiping tears from her red eyes, she shook her head. “Non, I am sorry. I just don’t know. People sometimes resent me for my beauty or veela heritage, but no one has particularly targeted me with extended malice. I’ve told you all of that.”

Hiding his frustration, Harry closed his folder of notes. “Thank you for your honesty, Gabrielle. I know this has been difficult. Just in case, I want to offer you a protection detail since it seems like someone is trying to kill you.”

“My family will keep her safe,” Bill refused, shaking his head. “We’d prefer not to add more strangers into the house. I already called Ron to stay over for a few days. He’s going to help escort her to and from work. My other brothers will take shifts too. You just focus on finding whoever is trying to hurt her.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry said solemnly. He didn’t bother mentioning that his best hadn’t been very good lately. Hopefully his luck would change soon.

“Oh, can Hermione leave with us?” Gabrielle asked with hopeful aquamarine eyes.

“Unfortunately, not quite yet,” Harry said with forced smoothness. He didn’t know why Draco was refusing to release Hermione Granger from custody, but he planned on demanding an answer as soon as he finished seeing to Gabrielle. “The department has a few more questions for her, but I’m sure you’ll see her soon.”

Harry hated the sad look he’d just put on Gabrielle’s face. She stepped forward and gave Harry a hug, making him feel a little bit better. Harry shook Bill’s hand, helped sign them out, and then walked them out to the floo system in the atrium. Bill planned on escorting Gabrielle directly into her sister's arms. Since the Weasleys would be able to protect Gabrielle from most attacks, Harry considered her as safe as possible under the circumstances.

Walking back through interrogation, Harry peeked into the room Hermione waited in. She’d taken off her shoes and tucked her legs up underneath her on the chair, which she’d pushed away from the table and transfigured into a cushy armchair. Her cute little pink toes peeked out from under the edge of her robe. A thick book kept her attention firmly engaged. Several curls had escaped to trail down the sides of her face and neck. An unhappy crease had taken up residence between her brows.

Although he wanted to go inside and smooth that crease away, maybe tweak one of her toes, Harry couldn’t just yet. He needed answers first. Swallowing a sigh, Harry moved back silently and walked towards his office to go talk to Draco.

“Why hasn’t Hermione Granger been released yet?” Harry demanded.

Grimacing, Draco said, “I know you like her, Harry, but you need to stay objective.”

“Objective about what? Have you actually found out something that casts suspicions on her?” Harry asked in annoyance. “I thought you already took her statement hours ago without any red flags?”

“I did,” Draco said. “However, right before I was about to release her, the people searching her office found something. Her file also just got here from France and I’ve been skimming it. I need to read it more carefully later, but I’m concerned about a few things. Did you know that she was involuntarily committed to a mental hospital six years ago? Only a few days after her cousin was rescued from her kidnapper?”

“I knew she’d had some trouble, but,” Harry took a quick breath, “I didn’t realize the overlapping events with Gabrielle. Yesterday Sirius mentioned that they’d both stayed at an institute in France together, but I’d assumed her stay was by her choice. Sirius had gone to France at my urging to get private psychiatric treatment for lingering problems related to being imprisoned with Dementors for so many years. He met Hermione at the same hospital he voluntarily checked himself into. It is known for being both discrete and effective in helping patients.”

There had to be a painful reason for Hermione being committed. Harry tried not to judge her for it. He had no right, beyond how it might relate to their current case. After all, he refused to let anyone think less of Sirius for needing help. “Sirius knew her there and still trusts her,” Harry defended. “She actually gave him the spell that helped me find and defeat Voldemort. My gut says she’s trustworthy. Just because she was in treatment doesn’t mean she did something bad.”

Mouth twisting, Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement. “We can’t assume she did, but you shouldn’t assume she didn’t either. We don’t have the facts. If we need to, we can go and question Sirius about her on the record. He plans to work late tonight anyways catching up after today’s disruption.”

Draco took a deep breath as he leaned forward. “Right now, though, we need to question Granger again. My paranoia is high right now. Someone seems to be trying to kill Gabrielle Delacour. Six years ago, she was kidnapped by a pedophile named Troyes Durand. The details in Gabrielle’s file are strangely scarce. She was at a public garden with her cousin, Hermione Granger. Gabrielle wandered off and disappeared. Granger contacted security and they got the police involved. Two days later the French police received an anonymous tip and found her. Durand killed himself in prison before the case could go to trial. Case closed. There’s not even information about Durand’s family or occupation in the file. That’s either very shoddy police work or else a conspiracy of silence about what happened,” Draco said grimly.

Frowning, Harry said, “Let’s reach out to our contacts in the French ministry, see if anyone knows more about what might have happened. Gabrielle’s life could depend upon it.”

“Already done,” Draco said. “I’m waiting on their reply. In the meantime, though, everything seems to be pointing to that event as a catalyst. Maybe Durand wasn’t really killed or he was a plant. Or maybe Gabrielle’s attacker is an accomplice who escaped justice. Maybe it’s a family member of Durand’s who wants revenge.”

Draco paused for a second and then said heavily, “Or maybe it’s a family member of Gabrielle’s who became consumed with guilt and grief that she allowed her cousin to get kidnapped. Maybe she had a psychotic break, tried to commit suicide, and had to be committed to a mental hospital, even after her cousin was rescued. Maybe this person now blames Gabrielle for her own trauma and wants revenge.”

Acid churning in his gut, Harry couldn’t disprove any of it. Those were all viable theories, even the horrible one about Hermione. He prayed that it wasn’t true but diligence forced him to consider it.

“Finally,” Draco said, “and I’m grasping at a thread here, but what if Gabrielle’s kidnapping all of those years ago is related to Teddy’s kidnapping now? Both victims are attractive children with parents who are part creature, half-veela and werewolf respectively. It’s unlikely, but there could be a link. We don’t have enough information in Gabrielle’s file and the French aren’t expediting things the way I’d like. Questioning Hermione is our best option right now. I don’t have enough to get the chief to sign off on veritaserum for Hermione, so we need to play this interview right.”

Setting his jaw, Harry leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. “Okay, I’m in. I still think Hermione is innocent, but your theories are compelling. Lay out your strategy for me,” he ordered.

After hearing Draco’s line of questioning, Harry agreed to go along. All his instincts all told him that Hermione would never hurt her cousin, that she was a good woman down to her soul. Harry really liked her, felt drawn to her more than he’d ever been drawn to a woman before. Even though it had only been a few days, it was really going to hurt if she turned out to be a criminal. If she really was innocent though, more questions wouldn’t hurt anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the outfits worn by Lavender and Parvati to my tumblr just for fun.


	22. Hermione’s Interrogation

 

“Alright, let’s go,” Harry finally agreed. Draco led the way with Harry trailing behind. Harry reminded himself to stay detached and professional.

When Draco entered Hermione’s room, she looked up with irritation. “Can I leave yet? Or at least get a snack? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Her scowl softened when Harry entered the room. She dropped her feet to the floor and slipped her shoes back on. Harry felt a pang of regret as she hid her cute little feet again in her sensible shoes.

“We just have a few more questions and then you can leave,” answered Draco neutrally. Harry stayed conspicuously silent, but he did try to send Hermione a fortifying and sympathetic smile. They pulled chairs up to the table and sat down.

At Draco’s nod, Harry surreptitiously traced the runes underneath the table to activate the honesty charm on Hermione’s chair. It couldn’t force honesty, but it strongly encouraged the person to tell the truth. Even though she’d transfigured the form of the chair, the runes would still work.

Tucking her book away in the small pouch at her waist, Hermione sighed to herself. Then she put her hands in her lap and looked at them expectantly. “What else did you want to know?”

Draco led the questioning. “Do you know what the ingredients for tiger root poison are, Miss Granger?”

Blinking in surprise, Hermione answered, “Tiger root, belladonna, and mink saliva are the main ingredients, but according to the book I read, a variety of stabilizers and flavors can be used to affect the color, consistency, and flavor profile.”

“And you remember all of that from reading a page in a book that you didn’t even buy at an estate sale years ago?” Draco asked with a skeptically raised eyebrow. “Do you really expect us to believe that?”

“Yes,” Hermione stated, uncowed, “I have almost perfect recall of everything I’ve ever read, Mr. Malfoy. I don’t mean to boast, but compared to most people, I’m a genius. The year I graduated, I received 9 Outstandings and 2 Exceeds Expectations on my NEWTs.  The governments of four different countries and three different corporations courted me seriously before I even came on the job market. The international press called me the ‘brightest witch of our age.’”

Draco’s mouth dropped open, mirroring Harry’s shock and surprise. “But you’re a mud- muggleborn, so you didn’t even get any magical education until starting school at 11. How is it even possible for you to get that many ‘O’s and EE’s?” Draco asked.

Huffing, Hermione shot him a glare. “Do I need to explain it in smaller words for you? I’m a genius, which has nothing to do with blood status. Magical aptitude also has nothing to do with blood status. Blood status, in fact, is an artificial categorization to justify prejudice, much like trying to use different skin colors to say that there are other species of humans which are more primitive or violent.” She paused for a second before adding, “There aren’t, you know, just in case you never learned that.”

“Miss Granger,” Draco gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she replied evenly, narrowing her eyes.

“It’s _Lord_ Malfoy, actually,” he snapped.

“I guess that explains the silver spoon hanging out of your arse,” she snapped back.

“Why you-,” Draco seethed, too angry to coherently reply.

“Yes, it is my turn for introductions, isn’t it,” Harry interjected firmly, stepping into the conversation before things got even uglier and sending Draco a firm stare. “I probably owe you loads more introductions, Hermione, considering my omission when we first met. I’m Mr. Potter, also a Lord but I generally don’t use it at work. Good, now we all know each other’s names. That’ll make it easier to talk to each other,” he said, trying to inject a hint of levity.

“Also,” Harry added, “Draco isn’t a blood purist,” _at least not anymore_ , Harry thought silently, “and is actually quite intelligent, so you don’t need to worry about that during your acquaintance. He just felt surprised, I think. It isn’t every day we talk to the brightest witch of our age. We’ve been partners for almost five years and although his words may have inadvertently offended, he’s simply trying to do his best to find out who poisoned Gabrielle. I know you want that too. Let’s just get through these questions so we can all get on with our evening.” Hopefully they responded to his diplomacy.

Looking away, Hermione blew out a breath and nodded. Draco cleared his throat and seemed to be swallowing down his own ire. Thankfully they’d gotten through that without any hexes being thrown.

Getting things back on track, Draco continued his questioning in a neutral tone of voice. “Miss Granger, would you like to explain why we found traces of belladonna in your office? By your own admission, one of the main ingredients in tiger root poison?”

Head tilted, Hermione asked, “You mean from the macarons left on my desk?” She tucked a honey-brown curl behind her ear.

Leaning forward, Harry once again pushed down his attraction to Hermione and made himself do his job. “Those macarons didn’t have any poison in them. Only Gabrielle’s did.”

“Then what…?” she trailed off in surprise and confusion.

“We found traces of Belladonna powder in your trashcan,” Draco said, both of them watching her face closely for a reaction.

Hermione’s eyes suddenly widened. “The flowers,” she breathed to herself.

“What flowers?” Harry asked keenly.

“Someone sent me a vase of flowers and a chocolate bar on Monday,” Hermione said. “There wasn’t a note. The flowers looked pretty, but when I realized that the flowers were rue and nightshade, which is also known as belladonna, I decided to get rid of them. I didn’t like their message. I blasted them off my desk and then swept the remains into the trashcan.”

Draco still looked skeptical, so Hermine added insistently, “The departmental secretary, Arran Mawhinney, can confirm the flowers. He personally delivered them to my office.”

“Hmm, we’ll make sure to check with him then,” Draco said noncommittally. He flipped open his notes to the lab report on the trashcan. Harry leaned over his shoulder to read and, sure enough, it listed traces of rue and belladonna flowers, including petals, stems, and leaves. They’d also found traces of chocolate, ceramic, and paper. He felt relieved that her story matched the evidence, but tried to keep it off his face.

After shuffling his papers around, Draco looked up again. “In light of today’s poisoning, we have to consider that perhaps the falling sign yesterday wasn’t an accident at all, but instead a deliberate attempt to hurt your cousin. You were the only person present during both attempts.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide and dark. “I would never hurt Gabrielle. There’s no reason for me to. That’s ridiculous!”

Raising one blond eyebrow, Draco inquired, “Really? Is it? Then do you have any idea who might want to harm your cousin instead?”

“Yes!” she burst out. She seemed excited by her own words, but also surprised. A flush rose on her cheeks.

Harry found himself leaning forward on the edge of his seat. “Who,” he demanded.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer and paused, the tip of her tongue tucked behind her teeth. She stared blankly into space for a moment. The fingers of her right hand resting on the table trembled. Then she gave a sad sigh and looked down. “Someone evil,” she breathed painfully, all excitement extinguished. A drop of red suddenly appeared on her hand, quickly followed by another as a line of red streaked from her nose to chin.

Harry quickly stood up as she pinched her nose to stop the bleeding. Opening the door, he talked to the auror at the end of the hall. Then he stepped back into the room. Auror Magenta Marple appeared a few seconds later and dropped off a box of tissues. Harry pushed them over to Hermione.

Giving him a small, shadowed smile, Hermione took several tissues and held them to her nose. “Please, continue your questioning,” she said nasally from behind her tissue.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked. “We can take a break if you’d like. Perhaps you should see a healer first.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Hermione insisted, switching out her red soaked tissue for a new clean white one.

“Very well,” Draco said with a shrug, though he wrinkled his nose in disgust at her discarded tissue. He then proceeded to question Hermione about her past. Hermione was very open about her life in France, her schooling, and her work for the French Ministry. In fact, she spoke so rapidly that Harry found himself having trouble taking notes about it all. He’d have to fill things in later when watching it on his pensieve.

Only when questioned about the time around Gabrielle’s kidnapping did her words turn halting. Half of their questions were answered with, “I can’t say.” Soaking through tissue after scarlet tissue, Hermione only vaguely talked around her cousin disappearing and her stay at The Institute in France. Draco and even Harry became frustrated by the way she refused to answer questions directly.

She was hiding something. It depressed the hell out of him. The interview wasn’t going well.

Running his frustrated hands through his pale hair, which had fallen out of its ribbon a long time ago, Draco snapped, “I understand that you were indisposed for much of that time period, but just answer the questions, Granger! What are you hiding? Do you think Gabrielle’s kidnapper is still around?”

“No, not exactly,” she said haltingly, soaking through another tissue yet seeming grimly pleased at the same time. She pulled out another white tissue from the box and, in a move quite practiced by now, switched it out. Her fingers had crusted spatters of reddish-brown blood down to her wrists. Her face was looking quite pale, almost translucent.

If the interview didn’t end soon, she was going to pass out from blood loss. Harry kept trying to get her to pause and see a healer, but she insisted on finishing the interview now, not later. Even an exasperated Draco had tried to stop the interview, only to meet with refusal. It was maddening and disheartening.

“What do you mean by ‘not exactly,’” Draco probed with an unhappy frown.

Placing her tongue behind her teeth again, Hermione waited a beat, tapped her fingers on the table, and then replied again, “I can’t say.”

Letting loose an infuriated growl, Draco jumped up from the table and started to pace. Harry also felt frustrated and tired, but he made sure to watch out just in case Draco tried to lunge across the table and try to shake the answers out of their suspect. Although Harry liked Hermione and still thought her innocent of harming her cousin, even he felt the urge to start slamming things around. He just didn’t have the energy.

Hermione wasn’t making it easy for herself by being so contrary and difficult during the interview. He couldn’t understand it. She’d been nothing like this during their previous interactions. It gave him an ache in his chest and made him feel morose.

After one more lap from wall to wall, Draco stopped to bang his fist on the table. “Did you poison your cousin?” he demanded.

“No!” Hermione answered earnestly, begging them to believe her. Harry wanted to, but couldn’t in good conscience take her off the suspect list just yet.

“Did you cause the sign to fall?” Harry asked.

“No,” Hermione said firmly.

“Did you save your cousin just to make yourself seem like a hero?” Draco probed.

“Of course not,” she snapped, grabbing for another clean tissue.

“What do you know about Teddy Lupin?” Harry tossed in, trying to catch her off guard to see if she knew anything about a connection.

Rearing back, Hermione blinked in confusion. “The kidnapped boy? Just what you told me about him last night, Harry. Is he related to this somehow? To Gabrielle being kidnapped in the past?” She looked over at Draco. She genuinely seemed confused by the question. Harry doubted she knew anything. It was disappointing.

Malfoy shrugged and answered vaguely, “We’re simply exploring all our options.” Then he rubbed his face and sighed. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us at this time, Miss Granger?”

Looking defeated, Hermione tucked her tongue behind her teeth before once more repeating, “I can’t say.” The skin beneath her eyes looked bruised in her pale face. Her eyes looked haunted.

Harry knew she was hiding _something_ , but neither he nor Draco had the foggiest clue as to what it was. He was left feeling extremely depressed. Continuing the interview at this point seemed a pointless exercise in masochism for everyone involved.

Suddenly a soft knock sounded on the door. Draco walked over and stuck his head out. He spoke to someone quietly for over a minute. Then he came back in looking grave. Auror Jacob Stevens followed on his heels.

“Miss Granger, that concludes our interview for today,” Draco announced. “We’ll let you know if we have further questions. Feel free to come and see us if you ever feel like actually explaining yourself. I suggest you see a healer for that nose and take a blood replenishing potion at the very least.”

Hermione looked at him in surprise at his considerate advice. After a moment she nodded her head. “Thank you,” she said softly, “and I’m sorry.”

“Auror Stevens will finish checking you out and then escort you home,” Draco said, seemly done with her cryptic statements.

“I can do that,” Harry offered. Maybe she’d open up a bit more in private. Besides, he was worried about her health after such a prolonged nose bleed and difficult interview.

Shaking his head, Draco said, “No, Stevens will take care of her. You’re needed elsewhere.”

Confused and worried, Harry gave Hermione a parting nod and then followed Draco down the hall and into the lifts. “What’s going on?” Harry asked.

“Sirius collapsed,” Draco said bluntly. “They’ve taken him to St. Mungos.”

 


	23. Harry and Sirius in the Hospital

 

_“Sirius collapsed,” Draco said bluntly. “They’ve taken him to St. Mungos.”_

Harry staggered back against the wall on suddenly weak legs. “Poison?” he asked.

“Stephens said no,” Draco shook his head, “not that they could find. They aren’t sure what happened, but he seems to be recovering well at the hospital. He’s actually insisting on going home, but the staff won’t release him to anyone but family. They waited as long as possible before interrupting us, but he’s threatening to walk out by himself. Stephens couldn’t get ahold of my mother and he felt that we needed to know. I agreed.” Harry could only nod, still reeling from the bad news. The lift finally reached the ground floor.

Grim-faced, Draco and Harry immediately took the floo into the lobby of St. Mungos. Only a few patients waited to be seen. The receptionist directed them to Lord Black’s room on the third subfloor.

When they entered the room, Sirius was sitting up in bed. Although pale, he was in mid-argument with an attractive female healer in wrinkled robes. Harry recognized her as a member of the team who took the poisoned interns to the hospital. Her nametag read, ‘ _Roberts_.’

“Lord Potter, Lord Malfoy,” Healer Roberts said with relief, “thank goodness you’re here. Take him away, will you?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last thirty minutes,” Sirius huffed, “leave.”

Roberts sent him a scowl. “And I told you that you couldn’t leave unless someone agreed to stay with you tonight to monitor your health.”

Sirius sent her a weak but rakish grin, “You’re more attractive than those two blokes. Why don’t you come monitor me overnight instead?”

Unimpressed, Roberts said, “I’m not interested in monitoring you overnight, Lord Black, unless you agree to stay in the hospital. At that point, I’ll be off shift and the monitoring duty will fall to the healers on duty.”

_Ouch_ , Harry mouthed at his dad from behind her back. He felt so relieved to see his father doing so well after that scare. However, he didn’t fully trust it. That was the second time this week Sirius had had a spell. Something had to be going on with his health and Harry intended to make Sirius visit every doctor in town until one of them figured out how to fix him.

“Now that’s just cold,” Sirius said with a pitiful look at the Healer.

“Besides,” she said, ignoring his acting, “Lord Malfoy ranked higher than you in the last Witch Weekly poll and he’s younger than you. If I was going to voluntarily monitor someone overnight, it’d be him.”

Draco sent Sirius a cocky smirk before turning to the healer. “I’ll keep that in mind in case I start to feel weak and need some specialized attention.”

Sirius scowled.

“Now, Lord Black,” she said, “you need to set this parchment to record the results of the health diagnostic spell every two hours for the next twelve hours. It needs to be within thirty feet of you at all times. Then bring it along with you to your appointment tomorrow morning.” She waited for his acknowledgement and then asked in a no-nonsense tone of voice, “Who have you chosen to stay the night with you?”

“Is that really necessary?” Sirius whined one last time.

Before the vein in Nurse Roberts’ forehead could burst, Harry jumped in, “I’ll stay with him and make sure the diagnostic gets recorded. I’m his son.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said fervently, checking for Sirius’s agreement before handing over a stack of scrolls. “Here are the discharge instructions. Right now the best thing for him is a hot meal, a nice cup of tea, and a good night’s sleep in his own bed. His spotty eating today may have contributed to his collapse and dark mood. We’ll know more tomorrow. His bill will come by owl post within the next few days.”

“Thank you, Healer Roberts,” Harry said. Draco was gathering up Sirius’s things and handing him his cloak.

“Do you have any more questions?” she asked.

Tucking the scroll into his dimensional pouch, Harry asked, “Actually I was wondering how the poisoned interns were doing - Sandy Hao and Tyrese Jackson. I saw you on the team that took them away from the Ministry.”

Healer Roberts flashed a quick smile. “They’re going to be okay. Thanks to the quick thinking of Miss Granger, we were able to get them an antidote in time. They’ll be a couple of weeks recovering though. Even a few minutes of exposure to the poison caused a lot of damage to their internal organs and their magical channels. Freezing their gut absorption and then restarting it only to administer a brutal antidote didn’t help either, but thank Merlin there won’t be any permanent damage.”

“If your girl hadn’t been there,” she said, “those two would either be on magical respirators for the rest of their lives or dead. It’s a rare and extremely deadly poison. Usually doctors struggle to even identify its use because it kills so quickly and then degrades within hours. Luckily we don’t see it much since it’s such a delicate potion to brew. Most magic users have too heavy of a hand to make it so it’s been decades since the last reported case. Miss Granger is a heroine. She deserves a medal for her quick thinking and decisive actions.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Draco said shortly. He still looked miffed at Hermione’s interview and didn’t seem inclined to join in her praise. Her comment about the silver spoon probably hadn’t been the smartest thing she could have said to a man interrogating her for attempted murder. She may be a genius, but Harry had to wonder a bit about her temper and common sense.

However, despite Harry’s mutual frustration, he still couldn’t help but want to agree with Healer Roberts that ‘his girl’ was a hero. The attraction hadn’t disappeared. Her caring for others seemed genuine. Or maybe Harry just wanted it to be.

Turning back to Sirius, Healer Roberts said, “If you start to feel physically ill again or experience unusually severe levels of depression, please have Lord Potter bring you back in, no matter what time of night. Please, Lord Black.”

Heaving a sigh, Sirius said, “I appreciate your help, Healer Roberts. I don’t want a relapse. I’ll be a good boy. Thank you for putting up with me and my foul mood. I know I’m a difficult patient.”

Giving him a surprisingly lovely smile, she said, “You’re welcome and, just so you know, although I do favor Lord Malfoy in person, I actually voted for your picture in Witch Weekly.” Then she winked and left the room.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at both Sirius’ and Draco’s expressions.

“What are you laughing at,” Draco scowled. “You weren’t even in the running.”

“I know,” Harry smirked.

Slapping his knee, Sirius stood up. “That’s because he bought 51% of the company stock and threatened to fire the editor unless they moved him over to emeritus champion of the Ministry Hottie List and gave someone else the chance to win for a while.”

“You did what?” Draco asked in disbelief.

Harry shrugged. “They only agreed to give me 2 years at most, but the break has been amazing. It was totally worth the money. I’m on my way to having a controlling interest in the prophet too. Then we’ll see that paper singing a different tune about me, especially that Rita Skeeter. If I’m really lucky, I’ll get her fired.”

Shaking his head, Draco said, “Your deviousness always impresses me. I’m eternally grateful you stayed out of Slytherin and didn’t have a chance to hone your skills even further.” Then he turned to Sirius, “Well, shall we get you home, old man?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sirius said, waving his hand.

“I’m still staying the night,” Harry replied firmly.

The three men started walking towards the exit. “Fine,” Sirius said ungraciously, “but I can go to the appointment tomorrow on my own. You can attend work as usual.”

Draco suddenly looked up, “Wait, can you officially ask us to come with you tomorrow morning? Please?”

“Why?” Sirius asked suspiciously.

“My mother is having one of those war councils she calls tea tomorrow morning. Harry and I have to go, but if I owled her and said we had to take you to the hospital instead…,” Draco trailed off leadingly.

Sirius considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it’s too risky for me. She’ll either come rushing over and mother me ‘for my own good’ until I want to scream, or else she’ll think I’m faking to get us all out of her matrimonial machinations and come up with a cruel and creative punishment. No deal.”

Bumping Draco with his shoulder, Harry looked over and said, “Thanks for trying.” They paused by the dispensary for Sirius to pick up the potions he needed to take before bed. Harry and Draco waited out in the hall.

“Draco,” Harry said after some serious thought, “I know we both think something was off with Hermione’s interview tonight, but please don’t rush to judgement. I still think she’s innocent.”

Draco snorted, but Harry pressed on. “We can talk about it tomorrow, but we should both study her file and use a pensieve to examine the interrogation before arguing about it. I have a feeling we’re missing something.”

“I was planning on doing that anyway,” Draco said with a wry twist to his lips. “It certainly felt like one of our weirder interviews, what with the sexual tension between the two of you, her openness about every aspect of her life except for the kidnapping six years ago, the way she answered every difficult question with, ‘I can’t say,’ and that disgusting bloody nose that she kept insisting didn’t matter despite the fact that she must have lost almost a pint of blood.”

Turning his head, Draco said seriously, “But Harry, don’t let your attraction to her blind you to what and how she said things.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised defensively, “but don’t let your dislike of her bias you either. You deserved some of her ire for almost calling her a mudblood. I caught your slip and so did she. You should know better than that.”

Draco looked shamefaced. “I’m sorry. You know I don’t think that way anymore. I’ve learned better than to blindly follow my father’s doomed philosophies. I was just surprised and let old habits guide my tongue for a moment. You’ll notice I didn’t _actually_ say it though, I just almost said it,” he defended.

Before Harry could reply, Sirius came back out. By mutual agreement they tabled the discussion for tomorrow. They then followed Sirius home and checked over his house to make sure it was still secure. Lolly, his house elf, insisted that everything was undisturbed, but after the last two days neither Harry nor Draco wanted to take the chance.

Once everything checked out, Draco left. Harry went to the room Sirius still kept for him. He found it looking immaculate. The house elf always kept it ready for him just in case he wanted to stay the night.

After meeting back up in the dining room, Sirius cast the diagnostic chain spell to monitor his health. They had a small meal together and then spent the next hour sitting quietly in the study reading books. Neither felt up to a witty discussion tonight.

Finally Sirius stood up. “I know it’s early, but I think I’ll turn in now,” he said wearily. He stood with stooped shoulders and bruised eyes.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Harry asked with his heart in his throat. Sirius was his only family. He couldn’t lose him.

“I’ll be fine, pup,” Sirius said kindly, walking over to give Harry a tight hug. “Being around Dementors for ten years left a permanent mark on me. Most of the time I don’t notice it, but every once in a while it flares up like an old injury, causing me trouble. I get depressed and feel weak and shaky. Most of the time, my wondrous violet mint morphos can chase the feeling away like a flowery chocolatey mouth patronus. When they can’t, though, I have to see a mind healer for a while. You know that. This is just like those other times. You don’t need to worry,” he soothed, stepping back from Harry after squeezing his shoulders.

“But in the past you just got listless for a while, you didn’t collapse. You haven’t had any physical symptoms in years, not since the war before they banned Dementors from working for the Ministry,” Harry said worriedly. “What if it’s something else? Something worse?”

Sirius shrugged. “Then the healer will figure it out tomorrow. If he can’t, we’ll get a specialist. I feel fine now, Harry. Try not to worry too much, alright?” He reached out and ruffled Harry’s hair, just like he used to do when Harry was 14 instead of his current age of 24.

Nodding, Harry couldn’t find the energy to give his dad a smile. “I’ll try,” he said. “But if anything happens in the night, come and get me. I’ll be just down the hall.”

“I know,” Sirius said warmly. “Good night, son.” Then he turned and left for bed. Harry watched his father’s back until he turned the corner and disappeared. Then Harry, heavy-hearted, went back to his pile of folders and notes.


	24. Harry & Sirius Eat Breakfast

 

Wednesday morning, Harry woke up on the couch in the study. He'd never made it to the bed in his room, not wanting to be that far away from Sirius in case something happened. Lolly, the house elf, had finally given up on convincing him otherwise around 1:00 am. With his case notes and pensieve on one side and the scroll recording Sirius’ medical condition on the other, Harry stayed up late working.

However, when Lolly found him for the third time slumped on the desk, she had put her little foot down. Lolly stubbornly insisted on changing his work clothes into cotton pajamas and, after browbeating him into resting his eyes for just a few minutes on the couch since he refused to go up to bed, added several cushy pillows and a luxuriously soft blanket. Despite his intentions, Harry had quickly fallen asleep between one breath and the next and not woken up for the rest of the night.

After cleaning up in the bathroom, Harry went to his room. He still didn't know what to make of Hermione's interview yesterday, but at least the medical monitoring charm on Sirius showed him to be depressed but otherwise in good health. After a minute of staring blankly into the closet, Harry called for Lolly.

The house elf popped into the room dressed in a pale purple dress covered in cascades of fluttery ruffles. The only thing Lolly loved more than ruffles were Sirius and Harry. "Yes, Master Harry? What can Lolly do for yous this morning?" she asked with a twitch of her large, floppy bat-like ears. She’d centered a tiny ruffled hat between them. It bobbled as she spoke, but never quite slipped off.

"Thanks for fixing up the couch last night," Harry said sheepishly. "It was much kinder on my back than the desk for sleeping."

"You would have slept even better in yous own bed," she said with a scolding little frown. 

"I know, but I wanted to stay in the study just in case. I spent most of the night going over my work notes anyway," he said.

Lolly just sniffed disapprovingly. Then she accused, "You said if I agreed to take clothes and leave my old family that you and Master Sirius would be good masters. Good masters don't refuse to take care of themselves and make Lolly worry. Bad Master Harry."

"I'm sorry I worried you, Lolly," Harry said contritely. "Sometimes I can't sleep because I'm focusing on a problem, but I'll try to be a better master. I was actually hoping you could do me a favor."

Drawing herself up straight, Lolly said, "Of course Lolly would love to help Master Harry. You just have to ask. Yous knows that."

"Thanks." Harry ruffled his hand through the back of his hair, "It’s just that all of my clothes here are work or casual clothes. I promised to have an early tea with Lady Malfoy this morning and I need something a little fancier for that. Before tea, I planned on going for a broom flight to try and clear my mind, but I don't have my broom here either. I don't want to go back to my flat until Sirius is ready to leave for his doctor's appointment. Could you go and get my stuff for me?"

"Why didn't you just say so in the first place? Breakfast is ready downstairs on the kitchen table along with the paper and your files from the study. You go down and eat with Master Sirius. The clothes will be in your room when you’re ready," Lolly said.

"Thanks, Lolly," Harry said gratefully. She popped away. Turning, Harry pulled out a pair of comfortably casual robes from his closet to go flying in and got dressed. Then he went down to breakfast.

Sirius came into the room, grunted, and dropped into his chair. Cradling his mug of hot tea, he took a sip and sighed. Then he stole the paper and disappeared behind its pages. His adoptive father took a while to wake up in the morning and preferred not to be required to talk until he'd finished his first cup of tea. The front page had a picture of Sandy and Tyrese in St. Mungos with the headline: **Poisoning at the Ministry of Magic!** "

Sipping his own tea, Harry pulled his folder closer and flipped it open. He'd spent hours going over Hermione's words in his pensieve and reading everyone's collected reports, but he still didn't have a clear picture on who had left poisoned cookies on Gabrielle's desk. He also couldn't understand Hermione's refusal to talk. She was making it hard to prove her innocent.

At certain points she almost seemed to be tripping over her own tongue, she was talking so fast. Then suddenly she'd become mute and refuse to answer their questions, always with the same three word refusal: "I can't say." He didn't think she'd lied to them once, but instead of lying she just went stubbornly silent. He’d also found it very disturbing to watch her ignoring such a horrible nose bleed.

After examining her reactions so closely, Harry really couldn't see her ever deliberately harming her cousin. She seemed to care too much. Yet something was going on. Only by re-watching things did he notice the lonely and heartbreaking look on her face during their questioning. Clearly she felt miserable. She also looked beautifully ethereal and tragic. He preferred her looking robust, snapping witty comebacks with beautiful, laughing brown eyes.

Harry wanted to help her, to rescue her if she'd just let him. But she had to be willing to talk. _Why wouldn't Hermione trust him?_ Reading over his notes again wasn't helping. He closed his folder with a frustrated sigh. He needed to stop obsessing over it for a bit, see if anything else shook loose.

With a rustle, Sirius folded the paper and put it down next to his plate. Lolly appeared to refresh his tea. She moved the paper and folders to the side table and conjured them up bowls of chocolate puffs cereal in milk. Both Sirius and Harry had gained an appreciation of American breakfast cereal when Sirius had dated an American heiress a few years ago. She hadn't lasted long, but the American cereal in their pantry had become a regular staple.

"I have my appointment first thing this morning," Sirius said, "and then I've been ordered by the Minister to take the rest of the day off. I'll probably catch up on my reading. Unless the doctor actually discovers something, I don't want you hovering Harry," he said with a stern yet pleading look. "So let's talk about something else more interesting this morning."

Releasing a deep sigh, Harry ran his hands through his hair. "I won’t nag," he said, "but you have to tell me what the doctor says without any sugarcoating or prevarications."

"Deal," Sirius said with alacrity. They spent the next few minutes on light topics. Then Sirius drank down the chocolate milk in his bowl, wiped off his milk mustache with a napkin, and stood up.

Pausing, Sirius looked down at Harry. He gave a slightly haunted smile and ruffled Harry's hair. "I love you, son. Thanks for staying over last night."

"Anytime," Harry said after clearing the emotion clogging his throat.

Stepping back, Sirius nodded and grabbed his cloak. "Enjoy your broom flight and good luck with 'Cissa. Don’t let her pick a troll for my future wife," he winked. Then he left to take the floo to his appointment at St. Mungos.

Harry couldn't bear to think that the healers might discover something seriously wrong with Sirius. They'd gone through too much together, fought too hard for their current happiness. The past didn't deserve to take away one more piece of them.

Besides, if Azkaban was coming back to haunt them again, Harry had no one left to blame but himself. Everyone else involved was already either dead or imprisoned. He didn’t know if he could take the guilt, even if it was misplaced. Emotions were rarely rational.

Unable to keep circling around his fears, Harry stood up and cleared the dirty dishes off the table. Lolly appeared to glare at him disapprovingly, but Harry continued to clean. However, she drew the line when he picked up the yellow sponge. "No, Master Harry! That's Lolly’s job, my sink and my sponge! Yous go flying now or else you'll run out of time before tea with Lady Cissy." She pointed to the hall where his broom sat propped in a corner.

"Oh fine," he sighed, putting the sponge back and stomping into the hall. He cast a quick warming charm on his robe and then grabbed his broom. The minute he stepped outside, he hopped on and zoomed in a corkscrew up into the air. Thought fell away until there was only Harry, the broom, and the sky.


	25. The Children Disappear

 

After a restless night, Hermione woke up feeling even worse than she had the day before. Witnessing the poisoning, being scanned by a Ministry healer for poison and curses and who knew what else, and then enduring that awful interrogation. Hermione wrenched her mind away from dwelling on it and forced herself to focus on eating a piece of toast and drinking a glass of water. Then she downed a blood replenishment potion and a pepper-up potion before going in to work.

After checking in quickly at her office to make sure she didn’t have any more mysterious presents waiting on her desk, Hermione went up to see Gabrielle. She wanted to check up on her cousin after the unpleasantness of the day before. Besides, it was easier to focus on Gabrielle’s troubles than on her own.

When she arrived, Gabrielle was sitting reading quietly. Her usual glow seemed dimmed. No one else was in the room. The desks of her two coworkers sat empty, with piles of folders still scattered haphazardly across the surface as if just waiting for them to pick up where they left off. Sandy Hao’s desk still held her box lunch on one corner, wrapped in a brightly patterned cloth.

“Hey, Gabrielle,” Hermione said gently. “How are you holding up this morning?”

Looking up, Gabrielle gave her an anemic smile. “As well as can be expected. I’m sorry you couldn’t stop by last night. Fleur said to tell you that you have three days to come see her before she hunts you down herself. I’m trying to finish up Sandy’s and Tyrese’s work so they don’t have to feel bad about leaving it undone. My current project can wait for a few hours.”

Gabrielle stopped speaking as a loud commotion began in the outer office. They both turned warily to look at the door. Suddenly Ron Weasley burst into the room. Hermione braced herself for their usual bickering, but Ron only spared her a quick glance. He actually looked relieved to see her. A worried Gabrielle stood up and came around her desk to stand next to Hermione.

“Good, you’re both here. There’s a family emergency,” Ron said urgently. “You both need to come to Bill and Fleur’s house right away.”

“What’s happened?” Hermione demanded, stepping forward on high alert. Ron’s usually ruddy complexion looked pale and grim, his eyes flat.

“Just come. They’ll explain at the house,” he commanded.

Gabrielle’s face looked pale and sickly. She swayed back into the support of her desk. Hermione probably didn’t look much better as the horrible possibilities raced through her mind. _Had something happened to Bill or Fleur? To the children?_ But Ron’s stubborn face said they’d get no news until they arrived at the house.

Stepping up to her cousin’s side, she placed a supportive hand around the teenager’s waist. “Do you want me to side-along apparate with you?” Hermione asked.

After blowing out breath, Gabrielle pulled away from Hermione. “No, I can do it myself. I’m not a child needing coddling. I’ll meet you there.” And then she disappeared with a loud, uncontrolled bang. Ron followed with a softer pop, leaving Hermione to poke her head out of the office and quickly inform the curious faces that there was a family emergency. She dashed off a note for her own boss and sent it into the departmental mail system. Then she apparated away.

A team of Aurors were pacing around Fleur’s house when she arrived. They examined the walls and grounds for clues to who knew what crime. Bracing herself for the worst, Hermione ran through the door.

Inside, Bill paced back and forth across the room like a caged animal, mouth set in a silent snarl, his wolfish traits more prominent than she’d ever seen them before. Gabrielle must have run over to hug Fleur, who clutched at her sister desperately. Ron had disappeared.

_But where were the children?_ Hermione thought with dread. This couldn’t be happening to the Delacour family, not again. It wouldn’t be fair.

“What’s happened,” Hermione demanded impatiently. “Where are Victoire and Dominique? Are they alright?”

Bill turned and howled in rage. In the ringing silence that followed, he growled out, “Someone snuck in and took them while I was out, placed a sleeping potion in the breakfast porridge.”

“They drugged me with the porridge too. When I woke up, they were gone,” Fleur said hollowly, looking very young and pale. “We called the aurors, but so far there are no clues as to where the girls were taken.”

Gabrielle moaned and swayed in her sister’s arms. “No, not again. I can’t face it again.”

Rearing back, Fleur smacked her across the face. “This is not about you, it’s about my children! If you can’t be helpful, leave!” The anger on Fleur’s face made the sharp, birdlike edges of her cheeks and nose look more pronounced

Cupping her red palm in her hand, Gabrielle staggered back from her sister with a wounded look on her face. She looked about to cry, but then she firmed her trembling lips and dropped her hand. “You are,” her voice wavered for a second before steadying, “You are right of course. All that matters is Victoire and Dominique. What can I do to help?”

Fleur stared at her coldly for a second before her face crumpled into tears. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes and Bill stopped his helpless pacing to enfold her protectively in his arms. “I’m sorry, Gabrielle,” Fleur gasped wetly from behind her hand. “I did not mean that. We just need to find the children. I n-need to get back my ch-children,” she sobbed.

“I forgive you, sister. Of course I do,” Gabrielle said softly, wrapping her arms around herself tightly and biting her lip.

A few seconds later, Ron came back into the room, followed by a muscular black man. “Auror Akeem Bass is in charge of finding the girls,” Ron said, gesturing to him. A second later, Hermione heard several pops as people apparated away outside.

Then Ron gestured for Bass’s benefit, “This is Fleur’s sister, Gabrielle Delacour, and her cousin, Hermione Granger.”

Auror Bass stepped forward with a solemn but trustworthy looking face. “We’ve gathered up all of the evidence we can find, including the potioned porridge, and sent it off to be analyzed. I know Bill and Fleur have already finished their witness statements, but since you ladies are also close to the children and interacted with them this week, I’d hoped to talk to you and see if you can think of anything suspicious surrounding the girls over the past month or so.”

“I’ve only been here in England for two weeks,” Gabrielle said helplessly. “I can’t think of anything suspicious happening around the girls, but I want to help. I can try to write down the events or talk to someone, see if anything pops out, but before I do that, I have to ask… are we absolutely sure that their disappearance doesn’t have anything to do with me?” she asked carefully.

Bass’s features sharpened. “What do you mean?”

Gabrielle took a hitching breath before replying. “Six years ago in France I was kidnapped by a pedophile named Troyes Durand. The police found me two days later. He was caught, but killed himself in prison rather than face a public trial. Could this be some sort of retaliation for that?”

“I’ll definitely need to look into the possibility,” Bass said grimly, taking quick notes.

Nodding, Gabrielle added, “You should also know that I’ve had two accidents that almost killed me this week. The poisoning yesterday at the ministry happened in my office.”

“What?!” yelped Fleur. “Two! I only knew about yesterday. What else happened? When? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Gabrielle shrugged and looked away. “We thought it was an accident. A sign fell above my head after lunch on Monday. Hermione knew. I’d hoped it would turn out to be a mistake and I wouldn’t need to worry you about it.”

“I find it hard to believe that it’s a coincidence, though it is possible,” said Bass gravely. “Who’s in charge of your case?”

“Aurors Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,” said Gabrielle.

Bass cocked his head to the side, as if just remembering something. “The drugged porridge…,” he muttered to himself. Then he looked up again. “I’ll coordinate my investigation with them. Can you come down to the office now and give me a statement in light of your cousins being kidnapped?” Gabrielle nodded in agreement.

In the midst of the drama and revelations, no one had bothered to really look at Hermione. She’d been mumbling to herself almost sub-vocally while Gabrielle spoke, practicing what to say. There wasn’t much. But she didn’t want to get sidetracked giving statements at the Auror’s office. The longer the children were missing, the more chance that there would be nothing for them to find. If they were dead, her spell would be useless.

“I can find them,” Hermione said very, very carefully.

Bass didn’t seem to have heard, continuing to talk logistics with Gabrielle, but Fleur’s bright blue eyes turned and locked unwaveringly on Hermione’s face. Meeting that gaze head on, Hermione repeated her promise, “I can find them.”

Stepping away from her husband’s arms, Fleur stepped towards Hermione. “How?” she asked desperately.

Hermione took a quick breath. “I can’t say, but I promise you, I can find them.”

“Do you know something about their kidnapping, Miss Granger?” Auror Bass asked heavily, dropping his hand casually near his wand.

Shaking her head, Hermione replied, “No, but I can find them for you. You just have to trust me.”

“What are you going to do to find them?” Ron asked.

“I can’t say,” Hermione said levelly. Ron scoffed and turned away angrily.

“Your secrecy isn’t helping those girls, Miss Granger,” Auror Bass scolded Hermione. The tension in the room felt thick and gelatinous. Everyone seemed either demanding or hostile.

Firming her lips, Hermione rolled up her left sleeve. Then she cast _finite incantem_ on the glamor covering her forearm. Immediately the ropy, six-inch long scar appeared on her skin. Hermione ignored the gasps and exclamations of shock and confusion.

Placing her wand in the same hand as her scarred arm, she reached down with her right to pull out her ceremonial athame. The razor-sharp blade seemed to almost swallow the light. Reacting as if to a threat, Auror Bass drew his wand. Ron stepped up next to Gabrielle protectively.

“Hermione,” Fleur demanded, “just what spell are you planning to use to find my children?”

Pained, Hermione looked into her cousin’s blue eyes pleadingly. “I can’t say. But Fleur, I love them too. You know that. Trust me, please.”

Fleur stared into her eyes for a long moment, then looked down at the scar on Hermione’s arm. Suddenly she took a quick breath and looked back up intently. “Have you ever cast this spell to find someone before?”

Meeting Fleur’s eyes, Hermione flicked her gaze over to Gabrielle. Then she looked back at Fleur steadily. “I can’t say,” Hermione repeated again slowly, begging her silently to understand and accept.

Eyes wide, Fleur asked, “Can’t say? Or won’t?”

Tears jumped to Hermione’s eyes. One escaped to run down her cheek. Dashing it away, Hermione smiled painfully. “I can’t say.”

Blowing out a breath, Fleur stepped back and nodded. “Right, we’ll figure that out later and fix you. For now, lead us to my children, Hermione. You’re our family’s miracle. I trust you.”

“But how,” demanded Bill as Ron said, “What are you on about?” and Bass protested, “Now wait just a moment.” Gabrielle stayed silent, looking confused about what had just transpired.

“Silence!” shouted Fleur, magically zapping everyone in the room with a static charge. “Now, Hermione, continue.”


	26. Harry’s Tea with Narcissa

 

When the position of the sun got too high, Harry reluctantly flew back to the house. Wind-ruffled but calmer, he went inside and took a quick shower. Then he got dressed in the nice robes Lolly had picked up for him. She'd made him a new set instead of picking up some from his closet at home. The shirt cuffs and placket had ruffles, which shouldn't surprise him from Lolly, but somehow it still managed to look masculine, refined, and stylish. A subtle green pinstripe in outer robes exactly matched the color of his eyes and made the color pop when he examined himself in the mirror. At least Narcissa shouldn't have anything to complain about with his dress today. After rolling his shoulders to check the fit one last time, he packed up his things into a satchel, shrunk it down to tuck away in his belt pouch, and then left for Malfoy Manner.

"Harry dear," Narcissa greeted him in the hall with a rose scented kiss on the cheek, "it's a pleasure to see you." Harry considered the rose scent an honest warning. She was a beautiful looking woman, but behind the beauty was a person full of complex layers and armed with dangerous thorns to draw blood from the unwary.

For those she considered family, a position Harry was now honored to share, there was nothing Narcissa wouldn't dare do to keep them happy and safe. Harry rather enjoyed the maternal attention. Poor Sirius, though, as Black family patriarch, saw her care manifested as an obsession to see him happily married with most likely an equally managing wife, since she constantly expressed her surprise that Sirius even managed to remember which pant leg to use, much less duped the ministry into giving him a job managing others. Sirius and Narcissa liked each other, but that like usually manifested as mocking.

At some point Narcissa’s matrimonial obsession was bound to turn his way. If it didn’t happen naturally, Draco was sure to throw Harry at his mother to save himself from her schemes. However, after feeling the harsh prick of being considered an enemy when they'd fought on opposite sides in the war, Harry much preferred having her as an ally, even if that meant being a victim of her maternal machinations at some point. Until then, though, he’d gladly throw Sirius her way.

"You're late," Draco called from the drawing room. He lounged in a chair with a cup in tea in his hand. A stack of rainbow colored folders sat stacked on the coffee table.

"It's barely five minutes past," Harry defended, grabbing one of the cardamom tea cookies that only the Malfoy elves ever seemed to make right. “I went for a short flight.” He took a bite of his cookie as Narcissa sat down on the chair across from Draco.

"How's your work coming?" she asked as she picked up the porcelain teapot to pour a cup of tea. She added two sprinkles of sugar crystals.

"Frustrating," Harry said with a wry smile, accepting the cup from Narcissa. She always made it just a tad sweet for him, but he didn’t have the heart to complain. Or maybe she just thought he needed the extra calories, since she liked to remark that he needed fattening up.

"Isn't that the truth," Draco sighed. "But it doesn't help that Harry's got a crush on the chief suspect in our most recent case."

Harry set down his teacup with a clatter. "She's not the chief suspect," he defended with annoyance.

Shooting him a disbelieving look, Draco said, "Who are you kidding? Your feelings, not to mention things south of your belt, are clouding your judgement. She deflected and shut down so many questions during that interview, I had to wonder if she used to play beater on a quidditch team. I don't think we scored a single point on her beyond vague answers about someone evil wanted to harm her cousin and that Gabrielle’s kidnapper is ‘not exactly’ still around, whatever that means. The healers checked her for all the common compulsion spells and the imperius curse, so as far as we can tell she’s not bespelled to stay silent."

"I'm not saying something isn't off," Harry said, "but I think she's hiding a problem, not an urge to homicide. If you look past the distraction of her nose bleeding constantly, you could see that she looked desperate and despairing. She wanted to talk to us. That’s why she insisted we ignore her bleeding nose and keep asking questions. Maybe someone is threatening her to keep her silent.”

“Considering her sharp tongue, I could see the attraction,” Draco snorted, ignoring Harry’s glare. “Nevertheless, I am a professional. I drew up a list of people close to her to interview about enemies, stalkers, gambling debts, and the like. The short record of her finances since she moved here doesn’t raise any red flags.”

“I didn’t feel like going home after I left you, so I also hit up a few clubs and cafes for gossip amongst the after-work crowd. Miss Granger supposedly keeps to herself but if asked, has an in-depth, well-researched opinion on everything. She hasn’t dated since moving here, but has turned down several offers. She’s not popular among most of her coworkers, but those who like her really really like her. They’re extremely complimentary, loyal, and concerned. People who’ve sent problems to her call her a genius and a miracle worker. I have a few of her disgruntled coworkers for us to potentially interview, but no one’s really jumped out at me so far.”

Draco turned to his mother, “Going back to the current evidence, do you know what the flower language is for nightshade and rue flowers? She received them as a gift, but then blasted them to smithereens.”

A frown wrinkled Narcissa’s porcelain brow. “Although the flowers themselves would make a pretty combination, the symbolism is rather dire. Nightshade flowers aren’t themselves poisonous, just the leaves and roots. Nevertheless, the symbolism of nightshade and rue together communicates a wish for silence, sorrow, and everlasting suffering.”

“That’s disturbing and threatening,” Harry said pointedly.

Waving it away, Draco shook his head. "It’s weird, but doesn’t prove anything. She's the only person who was there for both the falling sign and the poison cookies. You need to acknowledge that she’s the most suspicious candidate right now," Draco demanded, “no matter how depressed that makes you feel.”

“Suspicious doesn’t mean guilty,” Harry argued. “I think all of her strange ticks have to mean something. We just have to figure out what."

"What strange ticks are those, if you don't mind me asking?" Narcissa asked curiously into the tense silence, calmly taking a sip of her tea despite their heated argument.

Leaning back, Draco began ticking off on his fingers. "First, there's the aforementioned bloody nose that started the minute we started asking difficult questions and lasted through the entire interview. It made me wonder if she'd ingested one of those skiving trick treats from the Weasley twins.  She also had an inconsistent tremor in one hand and kept staring off into space like an idiot with her mouth open and her tongue tucked behind her teeth, probably trying to think up a believable lie," Draco added meanly.

"I don't think she lied to us," Harry defended. But then he added, "Though to be fair she didn't tell us everything she knew either. I think she wanted to help, but when questioned explicitly she either babbled so fast I could barely keep track of her words or.…"

"Shut down and refused to answer," Draco finished with frustration. “I’ve never been more depressed in an interview.”

Grimacing, Harry had to agree, "It did feel a bit like dealing with a water hose that was either pinched shut or suddenly unkinked to spurt water uncontrollably everywhere. I couldn’t help feeling unusually depressed over it all too. But that doesn't mean Hermione's guilty of trying to hurt her cousin."

"Wait, can I ask you a few questions?" Narcissa suddenly interrupted with a tremor in her voice. Immediately Harry and Draco stopped arguing and turned to her. Face pale, she stared down into her cup of tea.

"What is it, mother?" Draco asked carefully.

Narcissa took a breath and looked up. "You both mentioned how depressed interviewing this woman made you. I have to ask, does this woman have a connection to France or a pureblood French wizard, particularly from one of the older wizarding families?"

Extremely intent on her next words, Harry answered, "Hermione lived in France for over 12 years, though she's a British muggleborn. She’s related to the French Delacours, on the human side."

Licking her lips, Narcissa asked, "When you ask her questions she won't answer, you said that she got a nose bleed and that her hand trembled, but was the trembling in only her dominant hand?"

"Yes, it was," Draco said, leaning forward in his chair. “How could you know that?”

Narcissa nodded unhappily but didn’t directly reply, "And when refusing to answer your question, was her mouth partially open with the tongue folded back behind the teeth?"

Alarmed, Harry said, "Yes, that’s it exactly. What are you getting at?"

Closing her eyes, Narcissa turned away and breathed in shallowly through her nose. "Le collier étrangleur,” she said lowly in French. Her teacup slipped from her hands and spilled across the floor with a clatter.

“I’m sorry,” Narcissa apologized faintly.

“That doesn’t matter,” Draco said, banishing the mess and moving over to kneel at his mother’s feet. “Are you alright?” He took her hands and rubbed them briskly.

Narcissa squeezed his fingers and continued, “It’s a Dark spell known among some purebloods as The Choke Collar or _collum suffocateo_.”

Eyes unfocused, she said, “I can still see the picture of the tormented victim on the page of your grandfather's grimoire, Draco. It's a very old and rare spell known only to a few pureblood families in France. It keeps the victim from talking about the caster's secrets or even thinking of doing them harm. The spell reaches into that foulest of dimensions inhabited by Dementors and other dark creatures and attaches a filament to the victim's core. When the victim tries to speak of the forbidden secret or thinks of hurting the caster, the line to the Dementor's world cracks opens, paralyzing the victim's voice and leeching away at their soul. Fighting it triggers the stereotypical reactions you described.”

Looking down Narcissa swallowed hard, then confessed in a strained voice, “Ever since Lucius first described it to me, it’s haunted my  nightmares.”


	27. Harry Visits France

 

Pausing for a moment, Narcissa shook her head and snapped her mask back into place. She patted Draco’s hand and sent him back to his seat. Then she poured herself another cup of tea. Harry and Draco waited with baited breath for her to continue. "The choke collar spell is extremely dark and very rare, one of the unforgivables of ancient France. The victim has to be on the very cusp of death for it to successfully attach to their core, but even then the caster has to have a very delicate touch or else the Dementors will take too much with their first taste and kill the victim outright. Most magic users lack the delicacy and patience to cast it. It fell out of favor in France centuries ago over the more brute-force imperious curse favored by the English."

Picking up her tea, she took a sip to wet her throat. Then she continued in a level voice, "I saw my father-in-law try to cast it on his brother after torturing him near to death, but the spell failed. He brought him to the cusp of death and attached the siphon, but the filament he made was too large. The Dementors sucked him dry. He died after a full minute of excruciating screaming as his soul was battled over by a multitude of shadows and then devoured from the inside out. Luckily they’d placed him inside a strong warding circle first. Lucius didn't seem to mind the death of his uncle, but he threatened me with the spell should I even think of betraying him or his secrets. He liked to bring it up when I started to forget my place." Narcissa looked away and took another calm sip of tea. Only the tightness of her grip on the teacup betrayed her agitation.

"By Merlin," Draco breathed with horror. “I’m so sorry, mother.” Then he winced, “And poor Granger! I owe her an apology. To be attached to a world full of Dementors… it sounds worse than being in Azkaban.”

Then Draco gasped and turned to Harry, "Dementors and Azkaban, Harry!”

"What?" Harry asked, still reeling from the thought of what they'd put Hermione through yesterday during their questioning. No wonder he'd felt so depressed during her interview. It had been the influence of the dementors. What must it have been like for her, feeling Dementors from the inside? Effectively they’d been torturing her with each question they asked. Harry thought he might be sick.

Draco stood up and began to pace. "I bet she’s the source of Sirius’ mysterious illness. Sirius collapsed during our interview with Hermione yesterday. He must have been feeling the effects of the Dementors' world channeling through her. We felt it too, since we both mentioned feeling depressed. In fact, you also told me he felt weak at the party on Sunday. Something must have happened to Hermione that night too to make her press against the spell to activate it."

“We have to dispel it,” Harry growled fiercely, “as soon as possible to protect them both. What’s the counter?” he demanded, turning to Narcissa.

Shaking her head, she answered, “I don’t know. Lucius worked to actively conceal that from me. You’ll have to contact a specialist in France. However, the families most likely to know about it will be the darkest and least likely to help. It won’t be easy.”

Harry stood up. “Then we’d best start looking now. You’ll never know how much this means to me. Thank you, Narcissa.”

“Just help that poor woman if you can,” she said with regal sadness. “I imagined too often that it would be me.”

“We’ll help her,” Draco promised, squeezing his mother’s shoulder in support.

“Yes, we will,” Harry vowed. Then he turned to Draco. “I think an international portkey to France is in order. Perhaps being there in person will expedite the files we’ve been waiting for and get us information on this spell.”

“After you,” Draco agreed, stepping up to the fireplace and offering Harry the decorative tin of floo powder.

Taking a pinch, Harry threw it into the fire and stated clearly, “Ministry of Magic, Department of Transportation, Portkey office.” Then he stepped into the flames. Draco followed.

Neither bothered to check in with the Auror office first. They could send a message later. Right now their priority was breaking the spell on Hermione. The clerk at the portkey office had worked with them before and immediately sent their request to the top of the pile. It only took a few minutes before it was ready.

After activating the portkey, Harry and Draco slurped across the channel to France. They barely managed to keep their feet or their stomachs. International portkey travel was brutal.

“You look like you’re going to puke,” Draco taunted from a white face and pinched mouth.

“Ten galleons say you’ll puke first,” Harry fired back hotly. Seconds later he gulped heavily. His cardamom cookie wanted to reappear, but he refused to give Draco the satisfaction.

“I saw that,” Draco said, turning away to try and hide his grimace of discomfort. “Let’s walk. Hopefully our stomachs will be settled by the time we get there. That or I’ll be ten galleons richer, since the only one who’ll be puking is you.”

Turning, they made their way down the hill to a paved street. From there they only had to walk about a mile to reach the French DMLE. It gave them a chance to talk over Hermione’s interview in light of the new information.

At the French DMLE, the secretary out front quickly ushered them into a private meeting room once he heard their names. Within minutes, a pair of officers came back. “Auror Potter, Auror Malfoy,” nodded the wiry Frenchman in front, “I’m Officer Plank and this is Officer Dupre,” he gestured to the dark blond standing at his shoulder. “We have the updated file you requested on Troyes Durand, but didn’t expect you to come and get it in person. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but the reason it took so long to get back to you was because we’ve discovered the cause of the irregularities you pointed out and have been working to fix them.”

“What happened?” Draco asked, leaning forward in his chair intently.

Officer Plank grimaced and passed both Harry and Draco folders. Harry flipped his open and started skimming. “Unfortunately,” Plank said, “the officers in charge of the case were memory charmed. We’ve managed to reconstruct some of the lost information, but most of the witnesses to the kidnapping will need to be re-interviewed.”

“Wait,” Harry demanded as he paused on the now much longer bio page for Troyes Durand, “this says that Durand was married to a Prunellie Moreau. Do you have her bio? Or even better - a picture?”

“I had a clerk working on it. I’ll go and check,” Officer Dupre said, slipping out of the room.

“What are you thinking, Potter?” Plank asked.

Exchanging a grim look with Draco, Harry replied, “There’s a Frenchwoman named Prunellie Moreau working at the British Ministry right now in the Department of Magical Sports. I have to wonder if she’s Durand’s wife. If so, she could be the one behind the attacks on Gabrielle Delacour. She might blame Gabrielle for her husband getting caught and his suicide in jail.”

“He didn’t commit suicide,” Dupre said, striding back into the room with his hands full, “he was poisoned with tiger root poison. The autopsy report somehow ended up never getting attached to his file, probably due to the same person who memory charmed the officers.”

Opening up a folder, he slid it across the table to Draco and Harry before turning to share another copy with Plank. A picture of a younger but still familiar blond with cold eyes ran her hand down her hip and gave them a sultry smile. Her other hand clutched at the arm of a bland looking man who must be her husband, Troyes Durand. “That’s definitely her,” Harry growled darkly. “She delivered a file to my office on Monday. What’s her story?”

Dupre nodded with satisfaction. “Meet Prunellie Moreau, last descendent of an ancient pureblood family and former Minister of Youth Affairs and Magical Sports. She was the youngest to ever hold the office and also had the shortest tenure. At school she won several awards for potion brewing and her mastery of delicate and finicky spell work. Then she got a job with our Ministry. Two years older than Troyes Durand, she married him as soon as he graduated from school but kept her maiden name.”

“She sounds like someone who could brew tiger root poison,” Draco said.

Flipping a page, Dupre nodded. “After her husband’s death, her coworkers reported that they quickly found themselves waking up as if from a fog to notice that she was unpleasant to be around and unsuited for her job. Under suspicion of magical coercion, she quit just ahead of the inquisition and fled the country. We lost track of her, but to be honest, no one seemed to really look that hard.”

“In hindsight, we’ve discovered that both a coworker and one of the janitors in her office reported missing children while working with her, but no one ever suspected her or her husband. The children were never found. I have officers digging up the grounds of their old home as we speak. They’ve already found one body, but its not a match to either of the other two children. We’re trying to identify it now.”

“Based on Gabrielle Delacour’s testimony and the reports of other officers involved with her rescue, we believe Durand was definitely a perverted scumbag who deserved to die. His school records have several mentions of detentions for inappropriate behaviors around younger students and one incident of extreme violence, though they unfortunately aren’t more specific. He also has a few charges of underage solicitation on his records, though his wife’s money bought him out of any jail time. We definitely suspect that his wife may have known what he was up to. It wouldn’t surprise us at all if she’d had him killed in prison to conceal some of her own dirty secrets. If she’s in Britain, we definitely want to talk to her.”

“Thank you for following up on this so quickly, this is extremely helpful,” Harry said grimly as he flipped a few more pages through the casefile before looking up. “Why don’t you put together a team to go back with us and question her?” he suggested.

Plank nodded. “The two of us will accompany you back to Britain and sit in on her questioning, which our government will demand be done under veritaserum. As more information comes in from her former estate, I suspect we’ll have more questions as well.”

Agreeing, Harry added, “But I have another urgent question for you that may or may not be related. It’s why we came over in person. Have you ever heard of a spell called _collier étrangleur_ or _the Choke Collar_?”


	28. Confronting the Kidnapper

 

Smoothing her bristling hair back from where it stood on end, Hermione looked around at the literally shocked people in the room and began speaking briskly but carefully. Very, very carefully. “I will tell you when I find the girls and will lead you to where they are, but I’ll probably be too weak to help out by the time we get there. Once I start casting it will be dangerous to stop the spell until we reach them. I won’t be able to cast it again for weeks. Keep up or get left behind.”

Fleur nodded firmly, though everyone else still looked confused. “Do it,” the desperate mother commanded.

Done explaining, Hermione began chanting underneath her breath, softly moving her wand in the complex pattern she still had memorized, even years later. Raising her athame, she carefully cut a perpendicular two-inch line across her first scar, making sure to keep it shallow. The cut looked like a scarlet cross-guard on the sword blade of her scar. Ron swore under his breath at seeing blood magic at play, but stopped when Bill slapped him hard on the arm.

Ending her incantation, Hermione watched as the first drop of blood beaded up. Tilting her arm to the side, she watched it drip off her arm and fall to the floor. But instead of falling straight down, it turned and fell at an acute angle towards Gabrielle, like a raindrop driven by the wind. “There’s Gabrielle,” Hermione said dreamily, “she’s easiest of course.”

Three more drops plopped off, this time moving at a different angle before spattering onto the ground in front of her older cousin. “And that’s Fleur,” Hermione said with satisfaction.

The blood kept falling to the floor, drop by drop but never straight down, for a full minute without Hermione saying anything more. No one spoke. Then she turned and looked out the window. “There’s a male of our family line living about sixty miles west, but it’s not one of the girls.”

“No one else in the family is in England right now,” Gabrielle said softly.

Fleur’s eyes flashed, “But Uncle Gerard had an affair years ago with an Englishwoman from a town to the west. Perhaps the affair left issue. We’ll have to look into it later.” She turned away from her sister, “Keep looking, Hermione.”

Eyes unfocused, Hermione let her wand weave slowly through the air as her blood dripped, following faint magical impressions. Sweat beaded on her brow as she slowly turned left, then right, trying to find the vermillion flare and copper taste that meant close blood relations on her French side. Looking through the monochrome mist of roads, people, and houses that passed by her inner eye like insubstantial clouds out the window of a speeding night train, she finally saw something flicker out of the corner of her eye.

Immediately Hermione honed in on it, slamming to a stop in the mental landscape. Her stomach jerked queasily. Hovering, she could just barely taste the bright copper on the tip of her tongue. As gently as possible, she spread out her awareness, until the spark sharpened. She came closer and it separated into two distinctly female flares.

They were alive. She couldn’t tell anything else about their state of health, or if anyone else was with them, but she couldn’t worry about that right now. Hermione had to get to them first.

As quickly as possible, she yanked herself back to her body without losing their signal and opened her eyes. “I found them,” she said hoarsely, ignoring the spattered pool of scarlet blood on the floor beneath her outstretched arm.

“Where!?” demanded several voices simultaneously.

“Approximately one hundred and fifty miles north, in Scotland. I can’t apparate directly there, but it’s somewhere near the Glenfinnan Library. We can walk from there,” Hermione explained. Wiping the blade of her athame off on her thigh, she slid it back into its sheath. Then she clamped her free hand over the wound to slow but not stop the flow.

“Walking’s too slow,” Ron interjected. “I’ll grab the brooms form the shed and meet you lot there.” Turning, he ran out the door.

“I’ll have more Aurors here any minute now. Let’s wait for reinforcements,” Bass said.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t have the time anymore. I have to keep bleeding for the spell to work and taking any potions will negate it. If I pass out before we get there, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do the spell again anytime soon. We need to go now.”

Grim-faced, Bass sent off a quick message spell. “Fine, I told my people to look for us near the Glenfinnan library.”

“Who needs help to side-apparate to the library?” Bill asked briskly. Gabrielle and Fleur, raised in France, had never visited Glenfinnan. They raised their hands.

Bill took his wife and Bass took Gabrielle. Wands drawn, they all looked to Hermione. She gave them a nod and everyone popped away. A split second later, they reappeared in the cobbled courtyard in front of the library. A dry fountain decorated with a centaur holding aloft a large fish dominated the center of the courtyard.

Picking herself up from where she’d fallen to the ground, Hermione took her hand away from her arm with a slight rub, encouraging it to keep bleeding. “That way,” she said after a moment, both watching the drops and feeling the pull in her chest. She gestured down a side street. She started off at a trot but had to slow down after only a few steps because she didn’t have the energy to maintain it.

“Where are my people?” Bass growled under his breath as he followed her.

They’d gone less than a block when Ron appeared with the brooms. “There were only four brooms, so we’ll have to double up,” he said briskly.

“I hate brooms. I haven’t ridden on one since school,” Hermione said roughly. She was starting to feel lightheaded.

“Then you’re with me,” Ron said, passing the other brooms to Bass, Gabrielle, and Bill, who shared with Fleur.

Mounting, Ron held out his hand for her, but Hermione instinctively hesitated. “I know we got off on the wrong foot,” Ron said impatiently, “but I am just as committed as you to finding my nieces. I have your back on this. You can trust me. Let me help.”

Hermione looked up into his eyes. She saw something rock-solid staring back at her. Reaching out, she took his hand and climbed on the back of his broom.

“I was on my house Quidditch team at school, so just point the way and hold on. I’ll get us there,” Ron promised, kicking them up into the air.

They sped forward, only stopping at intersections for Hermione to give directions. Finally she tightened her arm around Ron’s waist. “That one there, the pink house with the neglected garden out front.”

Ron abruptly stopped, flattening Hermione uncomfortably against his back. “Are you sure,” Ron asked in a voice both breathless and pained. The other flyers sped past them.

“Did you find it?” Bill demanded, circling back to hover at their side.

Before Hermione could reply, Ron said unhappily, “That’s Parvati’s house. Lav’s best friend, _my_ friend since school, that Parvati.”

Auror Bass floated forward. “Parvati Patil? Didn’t Padma, her twin, get killed in The War by a werewolf?” He glanced over at Bill’s scarred face. “That could be motive, if she’s gone crazy and thinks the girls are infected too.”

“Enough talking, let’s go,” Fleur said, jumping off of the broom and stomping forward. Bill was hot on her heels.

“Wait,” said Bass, swooping in front of them to cut them off on his broom. “We can’t just go in there with wands blazing assuming she’s guilty. The girls might not even be in there.”

“Hermione says they are and that’s good enough for me,” Fleur said coldly.

“Let me knock,” Ron blurted out as he swung off the broom and helped Hermione dismount. “Just watch Parvati’s face when she answers the door,” Ron said. “If she’s innocent, she’ll let us in. If not, at least the open door will weaken the wards.” He gulped a breath. “She fought in the war with us. Hopefully this is a mistake, but if not,” he hesitated for a moment before adding, “don’t underestimate her spell work, especially not in her own home.”

“Fine,” Bass acceded, “we’ll follow Ron’s lead. The rest of you, hang back a bit.”

Gabrielle waited off to the side with Hermione as Ron led the way to Parvati’s door. Despite their desperation, Fleur and Bill obeyed Bass, arraying themselves close but strategically so as not to be immediately seen when the door opened.

Nudging her in the side, Gabrielle offered Hermione the scarf from her hair, gesturing to the hand once more clamped on her bleeding arm. Smiling bittersweetly, Hermione shook her head. “I don’t want it closing up completely until the girls are found. I just need to slow the bleeding enough that I don’t pass out,” she explained softly.

“Then I’ll keep it ready for later, when we find them,” Gabrielle said firmly. “But whatever happens with the girls,” she added in a voice thick with emotions, “I get it now. I know it was you who found me back then. I’m not sure what it cost you, but thank you, Hermione. Thank you so much for saving me.”

Ron knocked on the door before Hermione could figure out what to say. Her nose and eyes stung with unshed tears. A moment passed where nothing moved. He banged on the door more stridently.

The door cracked open and Parvati’s wary face peered out. Strands of ink-black hair stuck out of her usually immaculate braid and her eyes glittered strangely. “Ron?” she asked nervously. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t seem to notice the people lurking around the corners of her porch, too focused on Ron’s face.

“Can I come in and talk to you? It’s very important,” Ron pleaded.

Pulling back, Parvati shook her head. “Now’s not a good time. I’m about to leave on a trip, Ron. It will have to wait.” She started to shut the door, but Ron slapped his hand against the wood, stopping it.

“This is urgent, Parvati,” Ron insisted. “Come on, I need your help,” he cajoled desperately.

“I don’t know where the girls are, Ron. I’ve been home packing all morning,” she snapped impatiently.” I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

Ron’s head dropped slightly. “I never mentioned the girls,” he said painfully.

Face turning hard, Parvati kicked Ron in the shin. He jerked back, his bracing hand slipping from the door. It began swinging closed.

Letting out an enraged scream, Fleur jumped forward and flung a blasting curse at the door. The streak of light passed only a few inches from Ron’s face as it slipped with precision through the disappearing opening and exploded, flinging Parvati back into her house and blasting the door off its hinges.  It hadn’t been a fluke that Fleur had been picked as the champion of Beauxbatons Academy during the Tri-wizard Tournament all those years ago.

Bill leaped over Ron where he’d thrown himself down to avoid the blast and charged into the house with a roar, long red hair flaring wildly around his face. Fleur and Bass quickly followed, but Parvati had recovered from the blast and started using the defenses of the house to attack her intruders. Ron rolled inside, just barely dodging a barrage of kitchen knives that embedded themselves in the front door and clattered onto the porch.

Hermione wanted to join the fight, but it took all of her strength to stay conscious and not lose track of the copper tasting spark of her nieces in the house. If the room was spelled invisible, they’d still need her. At this point the only thing keeping her on her feet was Gabrielle’s arm around her waist. “Cast a shield charm,” Hermione told her.

“Right, sorry,” her young cousin said, shaking off her shock as she flicked her wand and cast the spell. A nearly invisible shield shimmered into place around the two of them. Then they moved closer to keep an eye on things and see if they could somehow help.

Bass dodged a spell and got caught by the front curtains. They wound around his legs and spun up his body, lashing over his face in an attempt to suffocate him. His dark forehead turned purple as he struggled to breathe and get the fabric off.

“Akeem!” Ron shouted, staying low as he ran across the room to rescue the auror. Bill deflected a hex away from Ron’s back, but another one caught him in the side and he stumbled to the ground.

Fleur attacked Parvati. Lights flashed from the windows and doors and several booms shook the neighborhood. Unfortunately it was midmorning when everyone was at work, so no one stuck their heads out to help. Hermione hoped the other aurors arrived soon.

“It’s your own fault for mating with a werewolf!” Parvati shrieked at Fleur as they cast hexes and curses back and forth across the room.

As they both ducked behind heavy furniture, there was a momentary lull in the fighting. Parvati spoke loudly into the silence, “You must understand, I would never harm human children, but these are just creatures. I’m doing a service. All three are cursed by the full moon. That’s why I have to put them down now, before they grow up and kill someone innocent, someone like my sister.”

“You’re not killing anyone,” Auror Bass gasped out from where Ron struggled to untangle him from the suffocating curtain. “You aren’t the law. You have no right.”

“Parvati, please,” Ron begged.

“If the law won’t do it, then someone has to,” Parvati yelled back angrily . “You should thank me for ridding the world of their perversion before they get old enough to understand their own depravity. You should thank me!”

“You’re insane!” screeched Fleur, blasting the edge of the couch sheltering Parvati. “Give me back my babies!”

Popping up on the other side of the couch, Parvati flung a spell at Fleur. The blond tried to dodge, but she wasn’t quite fast enough. The spell grazed her left arm, transforming it into a tentacle. Fleur dropped to the ground with a pained scream, but didn’t drop the wand in her other hand.

Bill charged. A flying carpet fell from an upper shelf and tried to crush him to the floor. He set it on fire, clawing away the flames as he leapt up with a scream of rage and cast a slashing curse at Parvati. She dodged behind a patterned armchair. Stuffing exploded into the air like escaping popcorn.

From the floor, Fleur pushed up with her tentacle arm and pointed her wand at the armchair in front of Parvati, transfiguring it into a gigantic swan with patterned feathers. The swan reared back, wings spread, and pecked violently at Parvati’s eyes. Parvati flinched away, just as Bill cast another blasting spell her way with a scream.

The spell caught Parvati directly in the side, blasting a hole through the side of her ribcage. She staggered back and dropped to the ground. From the broken window, Hermione saw her eyes turn glassy as a red puddle formed beneath her body.

Auror Bass, finally freed from the curtains with Ron’s help, limped forward and crouched down by Parvati. “She’s dead,” he pronounced obviously, face grave. Using his wand, he ripped the now limp curtain off the wall and floated it over to cover her body.

Pale-faced and shaking, Gabrielle dispelled her shield charm and helped Hermione into the house.


	29. Finding the Children

 

“Let’s just find the children,” Ron said in a ravaged tone of voice, keeping his eyes averted from Pavarti’s covered body.

While Bass took care of Parvati, Bill cast a series of spells on Fleur that restored her arm to human, but it hung by her side limply with the skin an unhealthy grayish cast. “We’ll have to get that treated by a healer,” he growled.

“Later,” Fleur brushed him off with a pained grimace. “We have to find the girls first.”

“I need to call this in,” Bass said, “but my communication amulet’s broken.” Then he looked at the pile of brick where the fireplace and floo used to be and grimaced. There would be no messages leaving from there. “My people should have been here by now. The new dispatcher must have screwed up again and garbled the message. When I get back there,” he snarled, “I’m going to hex him into next week.”

“Help us find the girls, everything else can wait,” Bill demanded.

Sighing, Bass looked around the room and then conjured up a hummingbird. He whispered into its ear and then set it loose out the front door. “He’ll bring us any aurors that have come to the library, but it’ll take a few minutes. We can keep searching until then.”

Everyone searched room by room for the missing girls. The house wasn’t large, being only one story. Barely two minutes later, everyone returned to the living room with grave, desperate faces.

“Did you find them?” Fleur demanded. No one spoke up.

“We know she had them,” Bill said desperately, turning his head from side to side. “She admitted it.”

“Hermione?” Ron asked, turning to her once again for help.

Taking her hand off of the wound, she made sure to drag her fingers across the barely seeping scabs that had formed to make the cut start to bleed again. It hurt. Pouring more magic into the spell, Hermine flinched and started to pant. She wouldn’t be able to do this much longer.

Walking forward using Gabrielle as a crutch, Hermione directed them into a small study towards the back of the house.  She stopped in a corner of the room and looked down. “They’re underneath me. I can feel them. There has to be a secret basement in the house.”

Everyone searched frantically for a door, but without luck. Gabrielle finally took a break to turn to Hermione. “You can’t get us any closer now. You need to stop the bleeding in your arm,” she insisted, holding out her scarf again demandingly.

“Alright,” Hermione said softly after a moment of hesitation. She didn’t want to pass out before seeing the children. Gabrielle held up her wand and cast a quick wound knitting spell first.

Nothing happened. Frowning, Gabrielle tried again. It still kept bleeding sluggishly. Sometimes wounds used to power blood spells wouldn’t respond easily or at all to magical healing.

Grimly Gabrielle pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and pressed it down hard on the wound. Hermione tried not to flinch at the pressure. Then Gabrielle wrapped the scarf around the handkerchief and tied it off. “We’ll get you looked at along with Fleur when we visit the hospital.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said with a tired smile. Then she looked up and around. “Ron, can you tell me anything about this house?” Hermione asked abruptly.

“Like what?” he asked with annoyance from where he was crouched down in the corner pressing on the decorative molding.

“Like the history, when it was built, or any other details Parvati might have let slip,” Hermione snapped. “You knew her. Think Ron!”

Standing up, Ron rolled his shoulders uncomfortably and sighed unhappily. “Um, so she had Lav and I help move her in. So… that was about three years ago. She’d gotten it for a steal, said the previous owner had been an inventor and gone bankrupt? Maybe?”

“Why did he go bankrupt?” Hermione asked keenly. “Did she mention the type of invention? It could be important.”

Ron scrunched up his face. “I think, I think it had to do with the trading of some kind of flowers? Ones that would sing, maybe? But something went wrong and he got sued and lost everything.”

“Singing flowers,” mused Gabrielle, “like the Glenfinnan Canaridills? I remember there being a scandal when I was in school with toxic ingredients being used to create the golden color in the songs. We’re in Glenfinnan, so it would make sense.”

Frustrated, Ron shrugged. “Maybe? All I remember is that it sounded like that famous muggle whisky but didn’t have anything to do with alcohol, just flowers.”

“You mean Glenfiddich whisky?” asked Bass.

“Yeah, that one,” Ron said. “But as for the house, I don’t really remember much more. It was a long time ago and I wasn’t really paying attention. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s actually really very helpful, Ron,” Hermione said breathlessly, carefully examining the wallpaper. “This is an architecturally generic house built about forty years ago. No useful, mass-produced bolt holes there. However, the singing flowers are specific. I read an expose about the scandal when it came out. The toxic ingredient in Glenfinnan Canaridills came from a bright yellow basement dwelling mold that, when added to the plant right before flowering, created blooms that appeared to sing songs at dusk and dawn and produced glittering showers. The inventor, a Lucian Caracol, concealed from investors that the glitter showers were toxic spores trying to reproduce themselves in the lungs of all those young ladies buying the flowers in droves. Caracol made millions of galleons in profits, but then lost it all in the medical lawsuits that followed.”

“How does that help us?” Bill asked impatiently.

Hermione turned and started examining another wall. “Well, if this is Caracol’s house, and the wallpaper motif of Canaridills flowers lends support to that theory, then the book I read also said that he first discovered the mold in the basement guest rooms. To hide his discovery, he redecorated and hid the stairway to the basement.”

“Show off later,” Fleur snapped. “Focus on telling us how to find the basement now.”

“I’m trying,” Hermione snapped back defensively. “My head’s spinning and talking helps me focus. There’s a clue in the wallpaper on how to get in, because Caracol’s interior decorator hated him and felt underpaid for the job, so she planned on coming back later to steal some of his “yellow gold” from the basement and left herself a clue on how to get in, but before she could its toxic nature came out. The only way she could cash in on him after that was by selling her story to the expose I read. I just don’t remember exactly what the clue is or if she even mentioned it. I’m hoping I’ll recognize it when I see it.”

“Alright then,” Auror Bass said with a clear note of authority in his voice, “everyone look at the wallpaper and shout out if you find something.”

After a few minutes of desperate examination, Gabrielle spoke up, “What about this? It looks like stretched out music notes, but when I turn my head, it also looks like a staircase.” She pointed to a spot on the wall. Everyone crowded around.

“Well Hermione?” Fleur said, the imperious question echoing with desperation and anxiety.

“I-I think so, yes!” Hermione said excitedly. “Good job, Gabrielle. I’d missed that the first time. Everyone step out of the room.”

Once everyone crowded into the hallway, Hermione asked, “Which Glenfinnan Canaridills song was most popular?”

“How am I supposed to know? I’m a bloke. I don’t buy singing flowers for myself,” Ron said defensively.

“I wasn’t asking you, I was asking everyone else,” Hermione snapped back. “Gabrielle? Fleur?”

“ _Down the Tracks to the Centaur Hills_ ,” Bill said firmly.

Gabrielle looked over at him with a surprised smile, “He’s right.”

Bill shrugged. “I got one for Mum but the twins accidentally hexed it to stop shooting glitter and just repeat that song nonstop. Mum finally had to just throw it out because it drove everyone spare, but just as well considering the toxic spores.”

“Right, well, now somebody just has to sing it. That’ll reveal the stairwell,” Hermione explained.

Frowning, Bill said, “I’m not sure I remember all of the words except the chorus. Do you reckon that’s enough?”

“I know some of it, but not word for word,” Gabrielle said guiltily.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Fleur snapped out, “Then everyone just sing it! Together! We’ll fill in for each other. 1-2-3 go!” Bill and Gabrielle started singing first. There were several pauses and gaps. However, more and more voices joined in, getting louder and louder, until the entire battle-torn group was singing the chorus about riding ‘Down the Tracks to the Centaur Hills’ to meet with their lover.

Perfectly harmonized they were not, but they did mostly have the right melody. They finished the song and started it over again stronger. This time they managed to sing most of the words and sound more like a chorus and less like something to make dogs howl.

As they finished belting out the second verse, a decorative brass trellis sitting in front of one wall shimmered and began stretching out, becoming the railing across the top of a shadowy, descending staircase. Everyone made sure to sing even louder through to the end of the song.

Finally the stairway completely solidified. Bill leapt forward and raced down the stairs with everyone in hot pursuit. Auror Bass and Ron kept their wands raised, just in case. Hermione did too.

Bill opened the first door, poised to spring inside, but reeled back into the hallway coughing and gagging a second later. “What is it?” Ron demanded from the back of the group near Hermione and Gabrielle. The hallway was too narrow to allow them all down at once.

“There’s a rotting werewolf in a cage. It looks and smells like it’s been there since the last full moon,” Bill said raggedly, his arm held up across his nose. Hermione noticed two more doors in the small hall. The children had to be in one of them.

Bill slammed the door on the rotting werewolf and turned to the next. He opened this door a bit more cautiously, then abruptly gave a strangled shout and lunged inside. “My babies,” Fleur sobbed, flinging herself into the room.

Everyone surged forward into the small room, until Hermione could see Victoire and Dominique clutched in their parent’s arms. Fleur was sobbing into Victoire’s silver blond hair. The children were limp and unresponsive, sending a bolt of fear through Hermione, but then she saw the vial of sleeping potion on the bedside table and collapsed back against the wall in relief.

“I think they’re just sleeping from being dosed with potion, but we need to get them to the hospital to be sure,” Bill said in a voice trembling with emotion as he cradled Dominique in his arms.

“My team will be here any minute,” Auror Bass said. “I’d prefer you to have an escort to Saint Mungos, just in case. Let me check the other room to see if there’s anyone else here.”

Bill nodded ungraciously. “Five minutes, then I’m taking my family there with or without you.”

“Thank you. In five minutes, if they’re not here, I’ll escort you myself and then come back to secure the scene.” Turning on his heel, Bass strode out of the room and down the hallway. Gabrielle had crouched down by her sister’s side, holding Victoire’s limp hand to her face and crying with relief.

Sniffling herself, Hermione wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You were amazing,” Ron pronounced, coming over to lean against the wall by her side.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, sending him a grateful smile. Then spots filled her vision and she felt herself start to slide down the wall.

“Woah there,” Ron said, catching her and slinging her up into his arms with a grunt. “You’re small but solid,” he muttered.

“That’s rude,” Hermione said, breathing shallowly to avoid throwing up. She could feel Ron shrug as he adjusted her weight.

“I’m not saying you’re fat, ‘cause you’re not, just that you aren’t twiggy. Slinging around all of those books must build muscle, I guess,” he rambled.

Vision starting to clear, though now she had a pounding headache, Hermione chuckled, then winced and cradled her head. “Ow, don’t make me laugh. Let’s just cry pax and be friends. Can we do that, Ron?”

The red-head tucked her more carefully against his chest. “Course we can. After what we just went through, we have to be friends. We’re practically family, after all. I acted like a prat before, and you looked down your nose at me and treated me like an idiot, but I’m sorry and I’m going to assume you are too. I have a feeling that from now on, our friendship’s gonna be epic. I’ll provide the brooms and strong arms and you can provide the obscure spells and random facts. We’ll solve mysteries together on the weekends. It’ll be great,” Ron teased.

Leaning her head against his chest, Hermione closed her eyes and smiled faintly. “Maybe only every other weekend, just in case I’ve got a date, but otherwise you’ve got a deal.”

“Oy, Hermione, stay awake until we get to the hospital, just in case. I’m not sure just what that spell did to you.” Ron gently jostled her, forcing her to open her eyes.

“If that’s the deal, then I get to cancel if I have a date too,” Ron added good-naturedly. “Not meaning me dating you, of course, we’ve well established that, but maybe you can introduce me to your cute friends.”

Hermione forgot herself and snorted, only to be rewarded with another spike of pain through her skull. “I have to see if you’re deserving of my friends first, but my neighbor Calliope is single and cute,” she mused threadily.

“Excellent, I’ll hold you to that when you’re feeling better,” Ron said.

Hermione yawned. “It seems only fair, since I’m trying to date one of your friends right now too. Maybe I’ll have you put in a good word.” Her voice started to fade out as she blinked her eyes shut.

“Which friend,” Ron demanded forcefully. “I can’t help you out if I don’t know his name. C’mon Hermione, stay awake and tell me.”

Forcing the boulders of her eyelids to stay upright seemed a Sisyphean task, but Hermione tried. “Harry, of course,” she answered foggily. “I kissed him, you know. Well, he kissed me first and then I memorized his mouth like I was cramming for a test, but that was before I knew he was famous and named Potter.”

Hermione could feel Ron’s bark of laughter through his chest before it escaped his mouth. “I have got to hear that story. He actually mentioned you to me, you know. He’s rather crazy about you, so I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

Before Hermione could force herself to answer, Bass came back into the room. He carried a small child’s backpack with him and looked very grim. “The other room is empty, but the bedsheets are rumpled and I found this inside.”

“Whose is it?” Ron asked fearfully.

Bass unzipped the bag and pulled out a book. Flipping open the cover, he grimly read out, “Property of Teddy Lupin.”

Jerking in shock, Ron turned his head away for a moment. “She did say, ‘all _three_ are cursed,’ but I was too busy to really think about it. I can’t believe I didn’t see, didn’t realize she’d gone so crazy.” Turning back to Bass, he asked in a cracking voice, “Is there any hope that Teddy’s still alive?”

The room went silent. Hermione looked over to see that Fleur and Gabrielle had stifled their crying to hear Bass’s reply. Fleur and Bill knew Teddy too, and Gabrielle couldn’t help but empathize with another kidnapped child.

Hermione cared too. She cared because it was an endangered child that deserved better and she cared because Harry would grieve deeply to lose his godson. For everyone’s sake, she hoped they could find Teddy.

“Until I see a body, there’s always hope,” Bass said firmly.

Suddenly from upstairs came the sound of shouting voices and footsteps finally arriving. Bass gently tucked the book back into the backpack and zipped it up. Then he walked out to meet the crowd.

Distracted by events, Ron forgot to keep watch on Hermione. She tried to keep her eyes open, but Ron’s chest was very warm and her head and arm hurt so very badly. One long blink turned into a long sigh as she slid into unconsciousness.


	30. Harry Returns to Britain

 

The second Harry and Draco appeared back in Britain, their communication amulets went haywire with missed messages. Giving Draco a worried look, Harry leaned against the wall of the nearest building and swallowed down the nausea from Portkey travel. Then he braced himself and pulled out his amulet. It reflected an angry orange in the light from the setting sun and vibrated urgently in his hand.

When he heard the first message about the little Weasley girls disappearing, Harry felt his heart stop. If another message hadn’t started immediately playing, he would have apparated to Fleur and Bill’s house. Unfortunately, the next message made him even tenser.

The lead investigator, Auror Akeem Bass, and the family had all disappeared from the house. His message asking for reinforcements had gotten garbled by the new dispatcher, who was so _SO_ fired after this. All aurors were to be on the lookout for them. Harry knew Akeem and considered him a good Auror, but he wanted to know just what the man had been thinking, disappearing before his backup had arrived. Distantly he knew he was being hypocritical, but he felt too upset to care.

Then another message started. Auror Bass and the Weasley family had been found. They’d gotten the Weasley girls back, but requested emergency medical treatment and a coroner. The message didn’t say who’d died. Harry’s jaw was clenched so tightly he’d probably be breaking a tooth soon. The final message specifically requested that Harry and Draco contact Auror Bass as soon as possible.

Looking up to meet Draco’s tight grey eyes, Harry asked, “Ministry or Mungos?”

“We’ll spend less time looking for answers if we go to the DMLE first,” Draco answered. “If Bass isn’t there, we’ll try Mungos next.”

The next few minutes passed in a blur as they pushed away their physical discomfort to race for the Auror department. Running into the office, they were immediately flagged down by Neville Longbottom. “Harry! We’ve been looking for you. Where’ve you been?” Neville demanded.

“Sorry, Nev,” Harry grimaced. “We had an urgent lead to track down in France. We came as soon as we got back. What’s the news?”

“A mix of good and bad,” Neville said solemnly. “I’ll just come out and say it: Parvati Patil snapped and kidnapped the Weasley girls.” Harry jerked in shock and Draco’s mouth dropped open. Neville continued with the surprises, “Somehow a cousin of the girls, one Hermione Granger, used a blood spell to track them to Parvati’s house. Parvati was killed in the confrontation, Fleur’s arm has spell damage, and Ms. Granger is on the cusp of death due to blood loss and magical exhaustion.”

Letting out a strangled gasp, Harry turned to leave for St. Mungos, but before he could take more than a single step Neville grabbed his arm. “Wait Harry, there’s more you need to hear,” Neville demanded. “They found three locked rooms in Parvati’s basement. One had the missing girls, one had the body of a dead werewolf, and the last had a child’s backpack.  The backpack had a book with Teddy’s name in it.”

Harry reeled.

“Teddy was there?” Draco demanded urgently.

“Teddy was alive, at least as recently as yesterday,” Neville announced. Harry felt a swell of excitement and relief.

“As far as we can tell, he was kept there for several weeks,” Neville said. “They think the room’s only been empty for about a day, probably when Parvati decided to grab the Weasley girls,” Neville turned and picked up a folder on what must be the case, handing it to Harry. “Right now we’re searching through the house and her history with a fine-toothed comb. Lavender spent several hours being interrogated and, once she stopped sobbing, is now accompanying a team of aurors on a search of anywhere Parvati might have stashed him. The chief has appointed several new aurors to take up this part of the search, Bones and Ogbor. They’ll liaise with you, but otherwise you’re ordered to hang back until the results come in.”

Looking Harry in the eye, Neville cut off his arguments by adding gently, “There’s a chance that she killed Teddy before taking the girls.” Harry felt his emotions surge wildly. Their corner of the room began to get hot. Anger at getting part of the case taken away vied with betrayal and fresh grief. “You have to prepare yourself for that. However, his grandmother is using the fresh samples of his hair to cast a family inheritance spell at the bank. If he’s still alive, the spell will work using the fresh samples. If not, then the spell will fail and at least we’ll know.”

“Right, just give me a moment to process, Nev,” Harry said, turning away for a moment and closing his eyes. After taking a few breaths, Harry made sure he wasn’t leaking magic anymore. He slotted the new information into place in his head and then opened his eyes.

Draco was flipping through the report. He looked up when Harry turned back. “There aren’t any leads on Teddy after the room in Parvati’s basement. I want to see it, but after that we’re going to have to wait for the techs to report in. Where’s Auror Bass?” Draco asked, turning to Neville.

“Still at the hospital with the Weasleys and Granger,” Neville said. “Are you going to head over there or do you need me to help with your urgent business in France?”

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. “I want to see the room and then check in at the hospital,” Harry said, “but we have a suspect you could bring in for us. Get a team together and go pick up Prunellie Moreau. She works in the department of Magical Sports and is dating Percy Weasley. We suspect she’s a murderer and has used at least one of the old unforgivables from France. A few people will be coming over from France soon to assist with her interrogation”

Nodding, Neville said, “I’ll bring Marks and Penham. We’ll look sheepish and ask her to come in to answer a few questions about the Weasley party last Sunday. No problem.”

“Thanks, Neville,” Draco said. Then he and Harry left for the recent crime scene.

Unfortunately, they found nothing new at Parvati’s house. The other team had done a thorough job. The only thing left was a small sweater and pair of pants sized to fit Teddy, and the techs were bagging that up when they arrived. The lead tech stepped to the side to update the two aurors. They’d also found a large box of sleeping potions in Parvati’s pantry that matched the potion on file. Most of the bottles were empty.

Harry had to keep pushing down on the betrayal and rage bubbling through his belly. He’d gone to a party with Parvati less than a week ago and she’d had Teddy the entire time. He wanted to scream and tear her house apart. Part of him was glad she was dead. The only regret he could muster was that they couldn’t interrogate her to find out what she’d done with Teddy. Maybe later he’d remember his childhood friend and mourn, but right now all he felt toward her was bitter anger.

“Let’s go,” Harry finally said. ”There’s nothing more we can do here to help.”

At the hospital, the receptionist directed them to a private hallway several floors down. Harry fidgeted, unable to contain his worry over Hermione and the girls anymore. They found Ron sitting in a chair with his wand out, guarding the hallway.

“Ron,” Harry called out.

The redhead shot out of his seat. “Where’ve you been?” Ron asked angrily.

“France,” Draco said shortly.

“How is everyone doing?” Harry demanded.

Shrugging off his mood, Ron took a deep breath before answering. “Victoire and Dominique are going to be alright, thank Merlin. We think she just drugged them a few times with sleeping potions.” Then he stopped and looked up with an agonized expression. “You did hear that it was Parvati, right?”

At Harry’s barely repressed snarl, Ron looked away. “Right, well, luckily they don’t remember much. The doctors can’t find anything wrong and they woke up an hour ago asking for ice cream. Fleur’s arm got messed up, but it should hopefully recover after a couple of weeks of therapy.”

“As for Hermione, well,” Ron rubbed his forehead miserably, “she’s pretty messed up. They’re treating her for extreme magical exhaustion and pumping her full of blood replenishment potions, but they’re having trouble stabilizing her core for some reason.” He hesitated for a moment, then growled, “Parvati’s dead.”

Abruptly Ron looked up with bloodshot eyes. “Hermione’s a bloody hero, you know. She led us right to Parvati’s house and then helped us find the secret room in the basement. We all thought she was crazy, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get our girls back. She’s a hero.”

Auror Bass poked his head out of a door down the hall, obviously drawn by the sound of their talking. He closed the door behind his back and came over. “Potter, Malfoy, good to see you,” he said. “You heard about Teddy?”

At their nods, he leaned against the wall and filled them in on the details Ron had missed. Then he asked what took them so long to arrive. On hearing about their trip to France, he called out Hermione’s healer.  Harry recognized Healer Roberts from Sirius’ visit yesterday.

“Can I see her?” Harry finally interjected.

“You know the patient?” Healer Roberts asked.

“Yes. We’re- I-… yes,” Harry said, realizing he that their relationship didn’t have a definition yet. He’d like to change that if Hermione let him. If she survived this… but she had to survive. He would do everything in his power to ensure that, and Harry had a lot of power to call upon.

“Alright,” the healer said with weary amusement, “but only for a couple of minutes. I don’t want her rest disturbed.”

The group resumed talking in the hallway while Harry walked softly into Hermione’s room. They’d drawn the curtains over the windows. The overhead lights were off but a lamp by her bed illuminated her face.

Hermione looked pale, so pale that the freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose reminded him of discarded pencil shavings on white paper. He didn’t like how her lips seemed more pale purple than pink either. Even the curls framing her face looked limp and deflated.

Unable to help himself, Harry drifted the back of his fingers down her cold cheek. She didn’t stir. Picking up the edge of the sheet, he pulled it up to her neck, tucking her in gently. Harry hated feeling cold when he was in the hospital.

Then he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. It felt like kissing a marble statue, cold and remote. Hermione’s vitality was slipping away.

“I’m going to save you,” Harry vowed softly, his breath fluttering across her hair. “You still need to steal your comb back from me, remember? Just hold on.”

Forcing himself to step away, he turned and left the room. Harry briefly peeked in on the Weasley family, but he didn’t stay long, not wanting to intrude on their recovery. Besides, he had a date with an interrogation room at the DMLE.


	31. Help Arrives from France

 

Despite Neville successfully arresting Prunellie Moreau on Wednesday night, the permission to interrogate her had to wait until Thursday morning. Minister Shacklebolt himself had ordered her isolated until then. Protesting had gotten nowhere. Harry had bitterly updated Sirius on the situation and then snatched a few hours of sleep in the guest bedroom.

The news the next morning soured his mood even further. Minister Shacklebolt had gone behind Harry’s back and given the French permission to lead the interrogation. All he asked was that they do it in the British DMLE. He’d even pushed back the interrogation until mid-morning so the French wouldn’t have to take international portkeys. Harry seethed with resentment, but there was nothing he could do.

Nothing new had come in on Teddy yet either. After searching all day and half the night with no luck, Lavender and her auror escorts had been forced to take a break.  The lab techs only had a few tests left to run too. The results of everything else had so far been useless.  Deep down, Harry pessimistically feared that this might be another dead end in his search. However, the inheritance test at the bank had at least proven that Teddy was still alive. Harry clung to that bit of good news as best he could.

Tossing and turning in his bed last night, he’d also found a nugget of hope for his godson. Perhaps the spell Hermione had used to find the Weasley girls might be used to find Teddy too? They just had to get her healthy enough to ask what spell she used. Though to be honest, Harry wanted her healthy for a variety of reasons.

Hand buried in his hair, Harry reviewed his files over breakfast. He had to be prepared for anything today. The different cases were pulling him in too many directions. No matter what he chose, he felt like he was letting someone down.

After breakfast, Sirius and Harry took the floo to the Ministry together. Then Sirius followed Harry over to the DMLE. As they walked down an empty hallway, Sirius said, “Harry…,” before trailed off.

Harry looked over. “What?”

Sighing heavily, Sirius met his gaze solemnly. “You can’t save everyone, son. I know you’ll try your best, but sometimes bad things just happen. You might have to prepare yourself for the worst.”

“What are you implying?” Harry asked defensively. “Is this about Teddy? Or Hermione?”

“I hope neither,” Sirius said, “but there is a chance we could lose one of them. There’s a chance we could lose both.”

Harry flinched and stopped walking.

After only a couple of steps, Sirius stopped as well and turned. “I just don’t want to lose you too, son. You invest so much of yourself in others. You have a saving people complex. But when those people can’t be saved, it makes you bleed. I worry,” Sirius explained softly.

Harry lifted a hand into the air helplessly. “I don’t know how to be other than what I am.”

Rubbing his face hard, Sirius released a strange laugh. “This is why I’m getting so many wrinkles and gray hairs. James must be laughing his butt off at me,” he said under his breath.

Then he looked up with a half-smile. He squeezed Harry’s shoulder and started walking down the hall again, gently pushing Harry along. Finally he broke the silence. “If I don’t topple Draco in the next _Witch Weekly Ministry Hottie Poll_ , I’m going to blame you.”

A few minutes later, they reached Harry’s office. Inside, Draco stood hunched over his desk next to Luna Lovegood. A beautiful Japanese woman in her mid-thirties leaned next to them, pointing at something in a scroll.

Sirius gulped hard, unable to take his eyes off the new stranger. He accidentally bumped into the door frame as he entered the room, but none of them looked up. Flushing, he shook his head briskly and entered more slowly.

“It’s not a lot to go on right now,” they heard Draco say, “but we’re getting you permission to use time-turners for the investigation since Granger’s health is so fragile.”

Luna leaned back from the pile of papers on the desk. “I know Hermione has to have a book about the spell somewhere. Unfortunately, I think we need to wake her up and just ask her. Otherwise this spell could take weeks or even months to figure out.”

“Hermione doesn’t have months,” the Japanese woman said grimly. “The healers think the blood spell she cast ripped open old scars, leaving her dangerously vulnerable. I have to agree with Miss Lovegood. I called in all the favors I have in the French magical aristocracy to get information on the spell. All my efforts barely amounted to anything, especially without the original spell for context. We visited her flat this morning, but she has thousands of books stored there, not even counting her dimensional library trunks. There isn’t time to do a brute force search.”

At this point, Harry cleared his throat, catching their attention. Everyone looked over. Harry stepped forward and said directly, “Good morning. Are you the researcher sent by the French ministry?”

The Japanese woman responded with an extremely elegant formal bow. “Hoshimi Kurokawa, at your service. The researcher chosen to help was less than adequate to the task, so I have resigned my post with the French and come in his stead.”

Luna stepped forward. “Hoshimi Kurokawa-san is one of Europe’s foremost experts on reconstructing old spells. They tried to send us a junior secretary. We’re very lucky to have her.”

“For Hermione, I could do no less,” said Hoshimi with a wave of her hand.

“Thank you for coming,” Sirius said, stepping forward with his own bow. “I’m Lord Sirius Black, Deputy Minister of Magic. Hermione is important to us. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” He looked up through his lashes and gave her an irrepressibly flirtatious half-smile before straightening. Her lips twitched, but otherwise she didn’t react.

Sirius gestured, “This is my son, Harry Potter.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Hoshimi said to Harry formally, “and thank you for your great service in defeating the last Dark Lord.” Then she added, “Hermione has been my friend for many years. I will do everything within my power to free her from this foul spell.”

Bowing awkwardly but sincerely, Harry said, “The pleasure is all mine. Hermione is valuable to all of us. Thank you for coming, Kurokawa-san.”

“As friends of Hermione, you may call me Hoshimi,” she said graciously, as if bestowing a favor.

Introductions completed, they brought everyone up to speed on their current plan. Harry still had time before Prunellie’s interrogation started, so he and Draco escorted Luna and Hoshimi to the hospital. When Sirius tried to come along to check up on Hermione, Luna of all people put her foot down.

“Absolutely not,” Luna said firmly. “We don’t know if the link to the Dementor plane that Hermione carries is open or not right now. It could cause you mental damage or even worse. Until we know more, you have to stay away from not only Hermione, but all of St. Mungos. If you need a healer, have them come to you.”

Sirius tried to argue, but with everyone backing Luna up, they managed to browbeat him into agreeing. “Fine, but keep me updated on how she’s doing. I’ll only stay away for so long. Being damaged doesn’t scare me. I’m used to it.” Threat given, he unhappily left to return to his office.

* * *

 

Everything felt heavy. Pain curled up on Hermione’s chest like an unwelcome cat trying to steal her breath, making each breath feel laborious. Hermione wanted to sink back into the oblivion of sleep, but the insistent voice wouldn't let her. It nagged at her to wake up, to open her eyes.

Finally she found just enough energy to lift her heavy eyelids. The light hurt. She blinked painfully.

"That's it, good job, Hermione," encouraged Luna, leaning over her bedside. "Just stay awake for a few minutes and then I'll let you go back to sleep."

"Hurts," Hermione rasped in complaint.

From the other side of the bed, Harry suddenly stepped up. He held a cup of water with a straw to her lips. "Here, try taking a sip." The stress lines around his eyes looked pronounced.

Hermione drank the sweet water gratefully. She wanted to drain the cup, but all she could manage were a few pulls before she became too tired. Her mouth went lax and her eyes slipped closed. The straw fell from her lips. She felt so weak, so tired, and everything hurt.

"Stay awake, Hermione," Luna prodded her demandingly.

Pouting, Hermione squinted unhappily up at her friend.

"I know you don’t feel good," Luna answered to her look, "but I desperately need your help. I'm your friend. You want to help me, don't you, Hermione?"

Blinking a few times, Hermione forced herself to pay attention. Luna needed her. "Yes," she whispered, forcing her eyes to stay open by sheer force of will.

"You really would do anything for those you love, wouldn't you?" said a wondering voice by the doorway. It sounded like Draco Malfoy, but Hermione didn't have the energy to turn her head and look. "Yes," Hermione answered him with a slur, trying to get her sluggish brain and muscles working.

The shadow on her left sort of looked like her old friend Hoshimi, but that didn’t make any sense either. Hermione only had the energy to focus on Luna. Luna needed her help.

Giving her a trembling smile, Luna wiped a tear threatening to drip off her face. "You're a wonderful person, Hermione Granger, and a true friend. Now," she leaned forward insistently, "I'm in trouble and I need a book on old French curses, particularly those forbidden and known only to the old French families. This is just for me, focus on that, okay?"

Struggling to think, Hermione nodded almost imperceptibly, "’kay."

"Good," Luna took her hand and squeezed. "Now, I’m certain you have a book I can borrow to help me out. I'm particularly interested in old French curses that keep people from revealing secrets. You don't need to think about any particular spells, just the book. Where is the book I need, Hermione? Where is the book?"

"Book for Luna," Hermione mumbled with half-closed eyes. She knew exactly where a book like that was, but since it was for Luna and not for herself, she didn't feel her curse clench down on her vocal cords or send bolts of pain through her brain. The curse didn't care about Luna needing a book.

"Kitchen… cupboard," Hermione breathed out through a surge of weakness. Fighting the need to pass out was becoming painful. "Top… corner." The water in her stomach started to surge queasily. The metaphorical cat compressing her chest unsheathed its claws and began kneading up and down her organs with painful pricks.

Rolling over weakly, Hermione leaned over the side of the bed and began convulsing, vomiting up the few gulps of water she’d taken. She kept heaving even when nothing but bile remained. A male cursed and a female cried out in concern. Voices began casting spells, one of which sounded like ancient Japanese.

Hermione kept her eyes clenched shut. A hot hand settled on the back on her neck. It felt good. Grounding. Somehow, she knew it was Harry.

The convulsions in her gut finally stopped. She felt even drained and wrung out. Her skull throbbed in time with her heart. 

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered over her head with tender sympathy, "I know you feel horrible, but you're not alone. We're here with you. We're going to fix you."

"We're loyal to you,” Luna added. “We love you.”

A voice that sounded like Hoshimi gently encouraged, “Trust in us and don’t give up."

Luna wiped Hermione’s face with a wet washcloth. That felt good too. "You can sleep again. You helped me. Now go back to sleep and rest, my friend. Sleep," Luna whispered.

Surrounded on all sides by friends, Hermione sighed brokenly and dropped back into blackness.

 


	32. Prunellie’s Interrogation

 

After raiding Hermione’s apartment for the book of French curses, Harry escorted Luna and Hoshimi back to the Ministry with their find. Draco had gone ahead to finish getting them access to time-turners. Instead of just individual necklaces though, he’d gotten permission to take out one of the larger units that could cover multiple people and entire rooms. He’d also set them up in a workroom.

Hoshimi dropped into a chair at the desk and immediately started flipping through the disturbing book, looking for the choke collar spell. Luna crowded in next to her. “Wait,” Luna interrupted, “go back to the last one.” Heads bent together, they read it over.

Meanwhile, Harry and Draco made several trips to stock the room full of books, paper, ink, quills, chalk, and miscellaneous potion ingredients. As they finished up, Harry heard the women plunge into a discussion of historical spell theory. It very quickly lost Harry, reinforcing his frustration. Draco jerked his head out and Harry gave in with a sigh. The researches didn’t even notice when they left, locking the door behind them.

Back in the DMLE, Harry saw that the French aurors had finally arrived. Officers Dupre and Plank sat at a spare desk comparing notes. Neville sat nearby watching them carefully, but when he saw Harry and Draco coming he took off with a casual salute.

“Gentlemen,” Harry said curtly. “You decided to change our agreement about the prisoner.”

Officer Dupre leaned back in his chair and looked up. “Our government is very concerned about this woman and her involvement with crimes in France. They demanded the right to initiate questioning, but I can’t say I disagree.” He gave a Gallic shrug. “It will not hurt you to wait to question the woman until after we are done. Many of your questions will likely be answered by our inquiry anyways.”

“Just don’t screw it up,” Draco snapped. Unimpressed, Officer Dupre raised one blond eyebrow, sniffed, and returned to his notes. A tense silence lingered over the next few minutes. Finally the clock chimed the hour. They stood up and quickly made their way to interrogation.

Auror Magenta Marple sat outside the room they wanted. Next to her stood a healer holding a locked case and a clipboard. “Suspect Prunellie Moreau is inside waiting for you,” reported Magenta. “You just need to sign out the veritaserum potion with the healer.” She gestured to the steel-haired woman standing by her side.

Taking the clipboard, Harry signed for the dose. Then he, Magenta, and the healer all released a trickle of magic into the parchment, creating a temporary key to open the restricted potions box. The healer opened the box and handed over the small bottle to Harry.

“The amount used will be logged and compared to the final reports. Don’t try to steal any for your own uses, please. We will find out,” the healer threatened pleasantly. “When you are done, place the bottle back in the box, close the lid, and tap it three times. This will return it to the pharmacy. Good luck, and may both justice and mercy guide your quest.” The healer then turned and glided away down the hall.

Harry turned to the French officers and forced himself to be professional. “I will administer the veritaserum and then step back, turning the questioning over to you as ordered. If at any time I feel that you are violating British regulations regarding the questioning of a prisoner, I will stop the interrogation and ask you to step out. Do you have any questions?”

“No, we are quite familiar with the protocols,” said Officer Plank congenially. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

Face neutral, Draco opened the door and stepped back, letting the rest of them file inside. Magenta stayed outside to keep watch. She tapped the recording rune on the doorframe with her wand to activate it. Then she sat back down in her chair. Draco double-checked the yellow glow of the recording rune and then closed the door. He took up station standing next to it.

At the table sat Prunellie Moreau, still looking beautiful even after a night spent in lockup. A standard leg-locker curse kept her confined to the chair along with spelled handcuffs. “Harry,” she exclaimed as they entered, tossing her blond hair back, “thank goodness you’re here. There must be some mistake. They won’t let me go. Please help me, save me.” She looked up at him pitifully, with just the hint of a tremble in her ruby-red bottom lip. At the same time, she leaned forward, displaying her cleavage to its best advantage. A faint hint of perfume drifted his way, so Harry quickly cast a clean air spell under his breath.

“Madame Moreau,” Harry said formally, “you have been officially charged as an accessory to murder and kidnapping.” The blond gasped and jerked in her chair. “This inquiry is intended to either clear your name or clarify your crimes. The use of veritaserum has been requested and certified.” Prunellie’s face turned a sickly green. “Is there anything you wish to say before the potion is administered?”

Mouth pursed tightly shut, she shook her head and looked around the room for a sympathetic face. Not finding one, she moaned piteously. “Please, there must be some mistake. Please don’t, Harry. Please,” she begged.

At his lack of response, she turned to threats. “I’m from an important family in France. I’m sure the French Ministry wouldn’t be pleased to hear that you are forcing restricted potions on one of their citizens.”

“You’re right,” Draco drawled from the back of the room. Before she could finish relaxing, he added, “That’s why these two representatives from the French Ministry will be leading your questioning today. The French are the ones who demanded we give you a restricted potion.”

The whites of her eyes flashed as she frantically looked around for escape. Her hands twisted with little jerks inside the spelled handcuffs. However, her resistance proved futile. There was no escape.

Harry stepped forward. “By the authority of the British DMLE, I, Deputy Auror Harry James Potter, officially begin the interrogation of Prunellie Moreau. Auror Draco Malfoy acts as witness. I will administer the veritaserum and then turn the questioning over to my French colleagues, Officers Plank and Dupre.”

Prunellie tried to avoid the potion. She reared back in her chair with her head turned away and mouth clamped shut. Unworried, Harry simply reached out and pinched the vulnerable skin on her inner arm. She involuntarily gasped, opening her mouth for just a moment.

However, Harry had been a quidditch seeker. A moment was all he needed. Lightning fast, his hand shot out and poured three drops of potion onto her tongue. Then he rapped the bottom of her chin, closing her mouth. She involuntarily swallowed, then looked at him in shock and angry betrayal.

Despite her portrayal of wounded innocence, Harry refused to feel sorry for her. If only half of what they suspected proved to be true, she was a monster who knew what her husband was doing. He’d apologize if by some miracle she actually proved herself innocent.

Capping the potion bottle, Harry stepped back around the table and joined Draco against the wall. The French aurors looked impressed. Harry sent them a nod. “Officer Plank, having successfully administered veritaserum to the suspect, I now turn her questioning over to you and Officer Dupre.”

“Thank you, Auror Potter,” Plank said formally. Then he turned to Prunellie. “Please state your name for the record,” he ordered calmly.

“Prunellie Moreau,” she bit out angrily.

“And what is your age and place of birth?” Plank asked.

“A lady- a lady never tells her age,” Prunellie stuttered.

Plank just looked at her for a moment before saying, “But I think you will be telling me today. What is your age and place of birth, Madame Moreu?”

Squirming in her chair, Prunellie finally gave in. “Thirty-one,” she huffed before adding, “and I was born in Lyon, France.”

“A beautiful city full of culture,” Plank said genially. “Did your husband enjoy it?”

“Not really,” Prunellie sighed with annoyance, “but nothing could ever really satisfy Troyes except his little toys, you know. I tried to help him, I really did, but working on my projects just couldn’t produce any long-term satisfaction.”

“Hmm,” Plank said neutrally, “that must have frustrated you.”

“I know!” Prunellie exclaimed, throwing back her head to flip the hair out of her face. “First he started finding my poisons boring and then he began to nitpick the victims I tried bringing home for him. I never got caught picking someone up. We can’t say the same for him, now can we?” She scowled.

Keeping his face cool, Plank prompted, “Did you bring him children?”

“Ugh, those stupid children,” Prunellie scrunched up her nose. “They were so boring but after I brought him the first one that’s all he ever wanted. What can a good wife do but support her spouse? After a while I’d just point out the vulnerable ones and then let him pick them up. After a week or so of playing, he’d always get bored and come back to me.”

She sighed, “I’m not one to waste anything, so I made sure to have him kill them inside our ritual circle. That way we could at least harvest their magical energy and use it to better our position.” A smile played along her lips. “Stolen power feels divine. It tastes even better from children, though adults are nice too. I suppose we both got addicted.”

“What did you do with the bodies?” Plank asked softly. He kept his clenched hands hidden under the table.

“Oh,” Prunellie tilted her head to the side and laughed. “It took us a while to figure it out, but after our second anniversary Troyes had the idea. We just transfigured their bodies into decorative rocks and placed them in the garden. We had some lovely dinners in that garden. Renewing the garden spells became part of our household chores. When we reached ten I finally had enough to start controlling other people. I actually got them to make me a Departmental Minister. Wasn’t that grand?”

It took effort not to lunge across the table and break this monster’s neck. Harry’s stomach churned angrily. This woman was worse than he’d thought. Not only did she not care that her husband had tortured and murdered children, she’s actually encouraged and helped him to do it.

Prunellie’s nostalgic smile turned into a scowl. “Then Troyes had to screw it all up and kidnap the cousin of a genius without asking me first. That idiot. I lost my job because of him. I tried to be a good wife, but in the end he didn’t deserve me.”

“And did he get what he deserved for screwing it up?” Plank asked carefully.

Sighing, Prunellie confessed, “It broke my heart a little, but I had to slip him tiger root poison in jail. He was going to tell on me, you see. He laughed as he told me that. They weren’t even going to have to potion him. He just didn’t have any loyalty.” She shook her head. “It put me off kidnapping completely. He made me lose the taste for it. But at least I properly cleaned things up after his death like a good wife. His name didn’t even make the papers. A few memory charms and compulsion spells took care of everything.” She sat bag with a smug little smile.

“What about Gabrielle Delacour?” Plank prompted. “Did you do anything to her?”

“Stupid brat was too well protected,” Prunellie growled, no longer smiling, “at least then. I almost got her twice this week though. She has the devil’s own luck.”

“You must be clever to get to her twice. How did you do it?” asked Plank ingratiatingly.

“I investigated a shop for sports negligence. I was finishing up my file when it came to me that I could use him. I almost managed to frame the guy for her murder. I was so close! I saw her walking underneath his sign and dropped it on her head. Potter’s just too fast though, him and that damned cousin of hers saved her.” She looked over at Harry with a pout.

He barely kept himself from sending her a snarl.

“Is anyone helping you with the attacks?” Plank wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

Rolling her head on her neck, Prunellie sighed and fanned herself. “Like I would trust anyone else with this. No one’s as good as my late husband Troyes and even he proved to be an idiot. Sometimes a woman just has to do her own dirty work.”

“I laced some macarons Percy had taken from the Weasley’s party with tiger root poison,” she explained. “I was sure that would get her, but then her stupid coworkers ate the cookies first. I probably should have poisoned the ones I sent to her genius cousin too. At least she’d be out of the way then, but,” an evil smirk danced across her lips and she leaned forward as if sharing a titillating secret, “I find too much joy in her suffering, so I didn’t want to end it so soon.”

Plank shifted in his seat. “Are you talking about Hermione Granger?”

Sending him a look of supercilious scorn, Prunellie asked, “What other genius cousin does that girl have? I sent Hermione flowers this week to punish her for embarrassing me at the party. I’m told she threw a fit when she figured out their message.” Prunellie tossed her head back and laughed. “Her own family locked her up in an insane asylum for casting the spell to find her cousin. Isn’t it delicious? They punished her for me. I’ve got everyone at the Ministry gossiping about it now. She seems completely miserable. I’m trying to decide if I want to drive her to suicide for fun. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Harry’s vision went white as he lunged forward, but Draco tripped him and slammed him back against the wall. “Stop! Don’t be clumsy,” Draco hissed in warning, holding Harry in place until he forced himself to relax and stopped struggling.

After a narrow-eyed look back at them, Plank wiped away more sweat and returned to his questioning. “So you left Hermione’s punishment to her family? That doesn’t seem like you. I’d think with your talents that you’d have preferred a more personal touch.”

“Well aren’t you a flatterer,” she cooed.

Plank flinched slightly, but didn’t show any other emotion.

Prunellie sprawled back in her chair, “It’s true, I am very talented. I easily got past the officers in the hospital to see her. She’d practically killed herself casting that spell. I was just going to poison her and be done with it, but then I saw how vulnerable her magical core was. It reminded me of a spell I’d read about in my great-grandmother’s journal, _le collier étrangleur_ ,” she said, rolling the spell off her tongue with relish.

“I’d always wanted to try it, but the conditions had never been right. I decided to give it a shot. If it didn’t work, she’d end up dead anyways.” Prunellie smiled in pleased memory, “I cast a sound barrier around the room and then forced her to wake up. Her screams were magnificent as I cast the _collum suffocate_ linking her to the realm of Dementors. Imagine my surprise when she actually survived the spell? Even now, she can’t talk about the events or even think about hurting me without excruciating pain and a nose bleed at the very least. It’s delicious.”

Sighing with satisfaction, she added into the appalled silence of the room, “Despite my best efforts, I’ve never been able to replicate it.”

“Do you know how to take it off?” Plank asked with controlled intensity.

“No, and why would I want to? Anyone I cast that spell on deserves it,” Prunellie said offhandedly. “I don’t think there is a counterspell. Any attempt would probably kill her, though it’d probably be fun to watch someone try.” Harry felt his heart sink at her answer.

The Frenchman continued clarifying on more of Prunellie’s crimes from before she left France, but Harry only paid half-attention. He’d have to review the interrogation later anyways. At least Gabrielle was now safe from further attacks. Harry just wished they had a cure for Hermione.

Only Luna and Hoshimi could save her now.

 


	33. The Conclave Gathers

 

When next she swam up from the dark, Hermione found the pain to be at a slightly more tolerable level. Everything still ached, but she didn't feel like she might stop breathing if she didn't concentrate on each inhalation. Blinking open her eyes, she focused on the wallpaper. The room had a border depicting a seaside retreat. Families picnicked on the beach, sailboats bobbed in the blue waves, and seagulls coasted through the misty clouds.

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn her head to look. A stately looking man with a full head of silver hair stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out the window. "Grandpère Delacour?" Hermione asked softly in surprise.

Turning, he gave her a solemn look. "Hermione," he acknowledged, "you're finally awake."

Tears jumped to her eyes. A few escaped to trickle across her nose and down her temple into her hair. She didn’t have the energy to hold them back. "Please don't send me back to The Institute. Please," she begged weakly. Black despair swelled through her body. The tears dripped faster.

"No, Hermione, no," he declared, striding forward to her side. Grabbing a tissue, he dabbed at her face awkwardly. "Calm down, child. I’m not sending you anywhere.”

Hermione sniffled and tried to force her emotions down. He hated it when people got emotional. She didn’t want to upset him even more.

"I'm sorry that I failed you before. This time, I know better." Face drawn, he sat back with the wet tissue clutched in his hand. "This time, I'm going to help. On the honor of our family, I promise, I’m going to fix this."

Hermione blinked up at him, wanting to believe in his good intentions but not sure she could, not sure if he was really speaking to her greatest hope or if she was just imagining things. Another tear escaped, despite her intentions. She didn’t want to cry in front of this man but she couldn’t help it. 

"Why is she crying?" Gabrielle demanded unexpectedly as she appeared in the doorway. "What did you do to her, Grandpère?"

"I merely apologized," he said with stiff defensiveness, stepping back until he once more stood by the window.

Raising the bed into a more comfortable reclining position, Gabrielle asked, "Are you alright, Hermione?" She grabbed a few more tissues and pressed them into Hermione's hand.

"I'm fine," Hermione automatically replied. She pressed the tissues to her face for a moment and took a deep breath. Then she lowered the tissues and forced herself to talk. "What's going on?" She feared that the answer would dash the hopes building slowly within her breast.

"We're going to fix you," Gabrielle said earnestly. Hermione wasn't sure what that meant. Besides the bandage still circling her left forearm, she didn't have any other external wounds. And no one knew about her curse, did they? _Or had Fleur figured out her clues and told the others?_

Before she could ask questions,  a healer bustled in and began taking diagnostics. Gabrielle stepped back as the healer gave Hermione two potions to drink. "I'm Healer Roberts. You’re suffering from extreme magical drain and blood loss that the potions haven’t fully caught up with yet. Please let me know if you need anything." When Hermione didn't say anything, she continued. "We don't want you to throw those up, so I made sure to sweeten them. We can't start the ritual until they've been completely absorbed, so do your best to drain the vials, please."

"What ritual?" Hermione asked as she tipped the first potion into her mouth and swallowed quickly. It didn't taste vile, but she still wouldn't call it pleasant. She waited a moment to make sure it wouldn't come back up, then she put the other potion to her lips and gulped it down. It fizzled strangely as it slid down her throat.

"The others will explain that to you shortly." Healer Roberts took the vials apologetically, threw them out, and then started setting up something on the table in the corner of the room.

"'Mione-chan, you're awake!" exclaimed a familiar voice from the doorway.

Hermione's heart lifted as Hoshimi rushed into the room and engulfed her in a soft hug. The familiar and subtle fragrance of cherry blossom perfume surrounded her Japanese friend.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked with confusion. "Aren't you supposed to be in France?"

"I'm supposed to be here, helping you." Hoshimi then added sadly, "Better late than never."

Tucking a shiny black strand of hair behind her ear, she sat on the edge of Hermione's bed and patted her leg. "As for France, the manager they hired to replace you was incompetent. I never should have refused the job a second time, but I still didn't want the bother of administrative paperwork. Just because I’ve worked there for over ten years doesn’t mean I want to start doing pointless paperwork. I worked there to discover new spells! I’d hoped the new person would prove to be half as wonderful as you, but I quickly learned that you are irreplaceable. I quit yesterday when he refused my request for leave. I'm thinking of starting over here in Britain. Your friend Luna is very convincing and your Deputy Minister of Magic is rather handsome. I'm thinking of letting him take me out to dinner."

Smiling with helpless confusion, Hermione shook her head. "I think I'm lost, but I would love to have you here in Britain. I've missed you."

"Good, then it's settled," Hoshimi said, sliding off the bed as more people filed into the room. Looking around, Hermione saw Luna, Fleur, and Harry join Gabrielle, Hoshimi, and Grandpère Delacour in the room. With Healer Roberts, that made seven, an important number for ritual magic.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked again. She tried to push herself up on the bed, but her arms proved too weak to support the action. Seeing her difficulty, Gabrielle raised the angle of the bed higher and tucked a pillow behind her back.

Fleur stepped forward with her jaw thrust forward. "Hermione, you've been suffering silently under a horrific spell for years. We're here to set you free.” She met Hermione’s gaze and said softly, “It's time to dispel the silence."

Tears sprang into Hermione’s eyes. "How?" she whispered, almost afraid to hope.

"Very carefully and with no little bit of difficulty," Luna answered for everyone in the room. "As a conclave, all seven of us have a part. The five of us who know and care about you most will all simultaneously cast the _patronus_ spell. It will probably feel uncomfortable, especially the corporeal patronus elements, but you mustn't shield against us, no matter what. Our spells have to impact against your unprotected magical core."

Harry looked over at Luna and protested, "Wait, you didn’t mention that earlier. What if it hurts her permanently? She's still so weak."

Instead of Luna, Hoshimi stepped forward to answer. "It has to happen while she's still weak before her natural defenses reconstruct themselves. The Dementor leech is normally located behind her shields. If we wait too long, she could either become too weak to fight off the malignant influence of the cord and get killed by it in her sleep, or else her shields could reform and then we'd have to batter them down to heal her, potentially fracturing her magical core in the process. It has to happen now, today while everything is in alignment."

"Do it," Hermione interrupted. "Get rid of it. I don't care if I die in the process. I'd rather you try than live with it for one more day." Looking into Harry's tormented face, she added desperately, "Please."

"Very well," he agreed grimly. The faint scars on Harry's cheek caught the light as he frowned.

"Hermione's strong," Luna pronounced. "She can do this. After we weaken the filament linking her to the world of Dementors, Hermione's Grandpère will go in and sever it using his family magic to expel anything not native to Hermione’s core. Then Healer Roberts will stitch closed the hole before it can rip too wide to be fixed.”

Although Luna didn’t specify that that would mean Hermione’s death, she understood what her friend wasn’t saying.

“We have to maintain our spells until the healer is finished. Hermione's life and sanity depend upon it." Luna looked around and met everyone’s eyes seriously.

"Are you ready, Ms. Granger?" Healer Roberts asked as she moved up to stand by Hermione's side.

"Please, call me Hermione. You are going to be touching the center of my unshielded magical core, after all," Hermione said with a crooked smile. "Such intimacy shouldn't occur with someone who doesn't at least use my first name."

"I'm honored, Hermione." Healer Roberts placed the tip of her wand at the base of Hermione's sternum. "You’re welcome to call me Mary."

"Thank you, Healer Mary," Hermione said softly, suddenly scared now that the moment was at hand. _What if she really didn't make it?_

Hermione had to ask. "If I die, will you please tell my parents the truth? That they don't have to be ashamed of me anymore?" Gabrielle gasped at her question and Grandpère flinched.

"Oh, Hermione," Fleur sighed painfully with tears shimmering in her blue eyes, "your parents were never ashamed. Why would you even think that?”

“Because you were,” Hermione offered steadily, ignoring the wetness trickling down her cheeks. “Everyone was.” Her skin felt cold beneath the hot tears dripping off her chin.

Fleur’s eyes overflowed and Gabrielle started to sob. “I can never truly express how sorry I am, but I will try to make it up to you for the rest of my life,” Fleur expressed through her tears. “I owe you _everything_ for saving my sister and my children. If I can do anything, just ask. It’s yours.”

Reaching out, Fleur touched the back of Hermione’s hand. “I judged you harshly and unfairly, but I hope you know that I never stopped loving you. Your parents also love you. I know they will be even more proud of you when you tell them the truth of your bravery."

"But if I die," Hermione repeated insistently, unable to release her fear despite the comfort offered by her cousin’s words.

Grandpère stepped up to the opposite side of the bed from Fleur, bracketing Hermione between the two. "Then I will personally meet with them and explain that their daughter was a hero and a credit to the family. They will know the truth. Everyone will know the truth of your valor and sacrifice," he vowed.

"Thank you." Hermione forced herself to relax into her pillows. Then she turned to the healer and said before she could lose her nerve, "I'm ready."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my original outline, Grandpere was going to be the one who cursed Hermione to silence to keep her from spouting wild theories and shaming his family in society and with the government with accusations and blood spells and scandals. Then I decided that I wanted something stronger and talked the plot over with my husband, who gave me the idea to give Troyes an enabling evil wife in Prunellie. I know some of you suspected Grandpere instead of Prunellie, so don't feel bad because that was my original idea before I decided to use him as a red herring.


	34. Dispelling Hermione's Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Scenes of spell violence and extreme pain.

Healer Mary cast the first spell, dragging her wand down the center of Hermione's body and then drawing a complex pattern in the air above it. "This is going to feel very odd, but just let the spell work. It's going to dampen your pain and negative emotions. It will also weaken your natural shields even further so they’ll fall without too much force. Your health is precarious as it is, so I set it to work gradually over the next few minutes. We'll let that settle as the rest of us prepare for the ritual, all right?"

Hermione nodded in agreement and tried not to fight the sensation of Healer Mary’s spell.  While she waited, the newly formed conclave moved to the edges of the room to prepare. Harry and Grandpère went to one corner while the woman claimed the other side of the room. After putting up opaque privacy wards, everyone went through a traditional cleansing to purify themselves for the ritual.

Although Hermione couldn't see it, she knew they were stripping down and washing themselves in magically pure pools conjured just for ritual. A few minutes later, the privacy wards disappeared as everyone stepped out. They all wore white ritual robes.

No one had glamour charms on in respect for the purity of the magic to be performed. A spark of amusement glided through Hermione when she saw a spattering of freckles and the wrinkles normally hidden on her Grandpère’s face. As if reading the thoughts from her expression, he started to reach up to touch his face, then stopped abruptly, sending her a sour look.

Before Hermione could decide on whether to shrink or glare, he noticed his granddaughters walking forward and seemed to remember his purpose, flattening his expression to one of duty. Fleur sent him a questioning look, which he ignored. The woman all had their hair unbound and flowing down their backs. Hoshimi’s long black hair fell all the way down to her thighs like a slice of midnight sky.

Even Harry’s face looked clean-shaven for once, though his untamable hair still stuck out with fierce wildness. His eyes looked both serious and slightly dangerous as he prowled around the room with intense focus. It made Hermione's heart skip a beat.

"As the most powerful wizard in this conclave, I will lead this ritual for the glory of magic and to save the precious soul of Hermione Jane Granger. May the joy of our purpose unify our hearts as magic makes us one," Harry proclaimed as he paced off the entire room, finally stopping at the foot of Hermione's bed. He placed a hand on her foot and gave her a searing look. Hermione swallowed hard, feeling branded by the touch of his fingers.

Then Harry took two steps back and held his wand perpendicular to his chest. "Luna, direct the members of the conclave where to stand," he ordered.

"Thank you, my Lord," Luna said formally. "The Lady Hoshimi and I have calculated everyone's strengths in light of their roles and placed them for maximum effectiveness." She directed Healer Roberts and Grandpère to stand on the left and right sides of Hermione's head. Then she put Fleur by the healer and Gabrielle by Grandpère. Hoshimi stepped up next to Fleur and Luna joined Gabrielle, completing the circle with Harry at the apex. Luna gave him a nod.

"Magic unifies this conclave," Harry intoned, sending his power out into the room. It felt like the heat coming off a sidewalk after leaving an overly air-conditioned house. The chill in Hermione's fingers and toes dissipated pleasantly.

Everyone lifted their wands and repeated the phrase. "Magic unifies." More power swelled through the room as everyone poured their energies into the ritual circle. It swirled around like a cyclone, rocking a few people on their feet and causing startled eyes, but it immediately stilled at a gesture from Harry. The room became hot.

"We are powered by justice, we are driven by love, we are magic made manifest," Harry called out with a ringing voice. In the following silence, the air almost crackled with the weight of gathered magic. The heat became oppressive.

Hermione felt their gathered magic pressing down upon her gossamer shields, deforming them almost to the point of fracture, but she was still separate from it, removed. Closing her eyes, she opened her magical senses and focused on her magical core, something she usually avoided at all costs. It felt inflamed from the recent spellwork to find her cousins. Almost hidden in a corner lurked a malignant, undulating cord that stretched off into a misty world of darkness and despair.

Then five voices simultaneously cried out, " _Expectro patronum_!" and she couldn’t help but crack open her eyes.

A white stag charged at Hermione from Harry’s wand. It ran straight through her chest, followed by a menagerie of other spirit animals. Staying calm proved to be impossible. Hermione shrieked in agony as her shields shattered, almost arching off the bed with only her heels and head touching,. A whip of black ice thrashed violently through her magical core, lacerating as it flailed for purchase. She drew in a quick breath and then couldn't help but scream out again, so tense she felt her spine might snap. The breath in front of her face fogged and an icy sweat broke out across her body as the air plummeted to sub-arctic temperatures.

Distantly she heard Harry roar. His stag circled back around and charged again, raking his antlers through her chest like red-hot pokers. White spirit animals raced in and out of her body, snapping at the icy whip connecting her to the Dementor world and ripping away chunks and tendrils.

But the fraying cord seemed to replicate like a hydra, sending out strands to root in new virgin areas currently unprotected by her shields. The one cord became ten, then a hundred microscopic threads all burrowing into her. When her friends’ spirit animals destroyed these strands, patchwork holes remained. Hermione convulsed.

The conclave sped up their attacks. Teeth flashed and claws tore through the threads as quickly as they formed. Silver hooves stomped, shattering the filaments with a shower of sparks. The threads flinched back from the attackers.

For a moment she felt hope break through the despair. Then Hermione's lungs froze as the cord leeched at her energy to stay alive. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she waited to die.

All of a sudden, a burning, cleansing fire burst into flame where Harry had touched her foot. It surged up through her body. The fire blasted away the frozen fingers paralyzing her diaphragm just long enough for Hermione to suck in a breath of scorching air. Greedy for more, she fought against the leeching cold and feeling of helplessness. Hermione forced her lungs to steal another breath. It fanned the flames until they rose up to consume everything in their path. The icy evil retreated down to a single point of excruciating pain deep inside. The spirit animals ringed the darkness with their shining light, exterminating all shadows and blocking any lines of retreat.

Something from outside abruptly slid down into her core. Hermione wanted to thrust it away, but her blood recognized the magic of Grandpère. Fighting her instincts, she forced herself to let him through.

Seconds later, the freezing cord of evil seemed to waver. It began diminishing with a screech of primal rage that rocked her magical core like a concussive blast. Then the last remnant of the spell convulsed in its death throes, violently ripping out all the remaining miniscule whiskers threaded stealthily beneath the feet of the encircling spirit animals.

Finally the cord disappeared completely. No hint of evil remained. However, in the pure light of the gathered Patronus animals her magical core was left looking like Swiss cheese.

Through the horrific pain, Hermione felt a moment of extreme exultation. She was free! Then her joy turned to panic as the ragged holes in her core started expanding. Healer Mary’s magic shot across the damage, weaving the fabric of Hermione’s magic back together as best she could. Her speed and skill were amazing.

But Healer Mary’s best efforts weren’t enough. She’d expected a single large wound, not a hundred small ones. The damage was too extensive. The cord linked to the Dementors had influenced Hermione too long and put up too great of a fight.

To make things worse, Hermione’s core had endured too much, forgetting how to differentiate a friendly touch from a hostile one. It actively fought the healer’s efforts to fix it. With horror, Hermione realized that the damage to her core was just too catastrophic.

Abruptly Hermione found herself floating above her body. Her emotions muted. Fear and hope both disappeared. Everything appeared washed out and pale.

The body below wasn't breathing. Healer Roberts frantically cast spell after spell. Grabbing bottles off the nearby table, she poured potions down its throat. It jerked grotesquely as magic forced air in and out of its lungs and kept blood pumping through the arteries and veins.

Feeling neither cold nor hot, Hermione let herself drift. She felt a very mild curiosity about the outcome. However, not feeling depressed or afraid anymore seemed more important. Mostly she didn’t feel much at all.

This wasn't so bad. People were crying and pleading with the body, but Hermione didn't mind. She wasn't in it anymore, so she didn't have to worry. She had the sense that a door would open in just a few more moments and she’d be able to leave here. Death might be nice.

Without warning, Harry suddenly loomed up in front of her spirit. His eyes blazed like stars and his body glowed with neon light while everyone else moved in dim pastels. Hermione dimly wondered why, but her curiosity had no force. Reaching out, Harry seized her drifting spirit behind the neck and yanked her forward to thud against his chest, sealing his mouth over hers in passionate claim.

At first, she felt unmoved by his kiss, staying passive in his hold. Harry's lips demanded she respond. He refused to give up on her.

The unshielded core of his magical soul brushed against her, both rough and smooth by turns. Most likely it was unintentional. He held more darkness than she’d expected, but also a dazzling array of light. Hermione wondered what Harry hoped to accomplish by doing this.

But then Hermione felt herself start to react. Harry’s lips immediately shifted and turned beseeching, coaxing her to respond, to feel alive. Heat suddenly spread out from their intertwined lips, surging through her frozen spirit. Her detachment burned away.

She looked at the heart of him and trembled. Harry’s core was beautifully complex and compelling. It called to her. He called to her.

Gasping, Hermione's hands lifted and clutched at Harry's shoulders. Their kiss turned steamy and triumphant. Harry's hands slid up to cup her face as he lingered over her mouth, pushing heat through her body until everything felt supple and alive.

At last he released her mouth, rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip once before stepping back. "As Master of Death, I claim dominion over your unmoored spirit. Return to your body," Harry commanded gently but firmly. "Come back to me, Hermione. Come back to all of us."

She wanted to obey, but… "I don't know how." Hermione looked over at her limp body helplessly.

Harry hesitated for a moment, as if steeling himself, and then asked, “Do you want to die?”

Hermione looked back at him and thought very seriously for a moment. Then she shook her head firmly, “No. I want to live.”

A brilliant smile appeared on Harry’s face. With a gesture, Harry’s majestic white stag reappeared. "Then he'll take you back," Harry said, reaching forward to grab Hermione around the waist and lift her up onto the stag's back.

She petted the short hair on the stag's neck nervously for a moment before looking down into Harry's strangely glittering green eyes. He reached forward and clasped her ankle loosely, looking up at her with patience. Her skin felt warm where he touched her. She’d probably always associate Harry with warmth now.

"What if it's still there?" she asked softly, touching her bare throat.

"It's not, I promise." Harry reached up and pulled her hand down. "Go back. I'm waiting for you. We're all waiting for you."

Looking into his eyes searchingly, Hermione slowly nodded. Then she picked up their clasped hands and kissed Harry’s on the back. “I trust you,” she said quickly. Drawing her fingers away, she turned and let herself be carried back down into her body.

The stag brought her into a place of heaviness. He turned and nuzzled at her ankle with his damp nose where Harry had touched her. Hermione slid off his back and laid her head against his side for a moment to borrow a last wisp of warmth and courage. Then she stepped back and let herself sink down.

Seconds later she opened her eyes with a hoarse gasp. Sweat coated her body and she ached everywhere, but she felt alive, light, and free. Hermione was finally wholly herself and free.

For so many years Hermione had focused on helping others. She’d almost destroyed herself rescuing her cousins. She’d dedicated her life to finding knowledge to help people. But finally, after so many years, someone had turned around and rescued her. Someone had finally cared. They’d saved her.

Gabrielle held her hand in a fierce clasp and grinned from ear to ear while tears still streamed down her face. Looking around at the happy and relieved faces circling her, especially Harry’s shining eyes at the foot of the bed, Hermione burst into tears. "Thank you!" she cried through her sobs. "Thank you for saving me!"

“Give her some space,” Healer Mary ordered, shooing everyone but Harry, who pretended not to see her glare, away from the bed. Sighing, Mary added to the rest, “And I want to see everyone eating a chocolate bar from the table before leaving. Watch out for magical exhaustion or unusual depression for the next day or two as well and report back for treatment.”

Hermione didn't have the energy to cry for long. Very quickly her eyes became too heavy to stay open. She felt Harry's hand land possessive and warm on her ankle. It made her feel safe. Taking a last shuddery breath, she let go and slipped into the softness of sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally dispelled the silence! Yay! (Though obviously we still have to find Teddy and wrap up loose ends.) After a few edits of this scene, my muse suddenly poked me hard and then pointed left, to which I responded, ‘Why no, this has no similarity to a certain Ranma fic with spirit cats that I wrote (No More Pussyfooting Around). I have no idea what you’re talking abou-, oh. Oh that part with the almost dying and being forced to live. Um. Well, yeah okay I suppose a little bit.’ Slinks away.


	35. Hermione Wakes Up

 

Friday morning, several of them gathered in the hospital to wait for Hermione to wake up. Harry had made himself comfortable by kicking his legs up onto the side of her bed. Gabrielle sat on a nearby chair with her long legs folded neatly beneath her. Luna and Hoshimi were passed out on opposite sides of the couch they’d stolen from a room down the hall.

Boredom had induced Harry to play twenty questions with Gabrielle. It was hard to say no when she pulled out the pouty lip. Plus he felt a little guilty for not figuring out that the falling sign had been on purpose. If he had, the poisoning of her coworkers might never have happened.

“Favorite sport,” Harry asked as he swiftly snatched a toy snitch out of the air using just two fingers. It vibrated between his fingertips. A second later, he let it go. The snitch zipped around the room like a golden hummingbird, ready to be caught again. Harry hated waiting.

Tucking a strand of silvery-blond hair behind her ear, Gabrielle hummed in thought. “Probably aerial gymnastics, though competitive broom racing is a close second.”

“Really? I hadn’t pegged you for a flyer,” he said, watching the snitch out of the corner of his eye. It hovered above the sleeping Luna for a moment, then whizzed off to the right.

“Oh, I love the freedom of the air,” Gabrielle enthused, leaning forward. “I hear you’re pretty good on a broom yourself, Harry. We should race sometime. I bet I could beat you. I almost made the Weasley twins cry last week when I won a bet based on my speed. We should invite Ron too, then I can make both of you cry.”

“You’re on,” Harry laughed, “but the only one crying will be you. Does Hermione race too?”

Gabrielle grinned and shook her head, “Hermione hates flying. She’s awful on a broom, pretty much the only thing she’s bad at besides small talk.”

Leaning back, the teenage blond declared, “Obviously your favorite sport is quidditch,” Harry shrugged and nodded, “so now it’s my turn again. Okay…,” she looked at the ceiling for a moment, then back down as she asked, “what tree do you hate the most?”

“Seriously?” Harry raised an eyebrow, then turned and snatched his snitch out of the air. Bored of it, he pressed the off switch and stashed it in his robes.

“I’m running out of questions,” Gabrielle scowled. “But it’s still a valid question. For example, I hate pine trees. My second cousin Alan and his friends threw me up in one once. My hair got tangled in the needles and sap got all over my new dress. When he and his friends saw that I was stuck, they started throwing pine cones at me. Luckily Fleur came along and hexed them all so hard they still avoid us to this day, but that’s where my hatred of pine trees cemented.”

“Christmas must be particularly trying for you,” Harry said dryly. “I’ll make sure to get a fir tree if I ever have you over.

“Please do,” Gabrielle said snootily with her nose up in the air.

“I’ll also take pictures of myself tossing pinecones at Alan and his friends if I ever get the chance,” Harry added, actually half-serious.

Gabrielle inclined her head graciously in thanks, then spoiled it by giggling. “Thank you, Harry. You still have to answer, though. Go on, I’m sure you can think of something.”

“I don’t know if anything particularly bad has ever happened to me in a tree,” Harry said. “Usually I’m on the ground or in the air. Maybe I should hang out in trees more often,” he mused facetiously.

On the couch, Luna sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “Didn’t you get attacked by a tree once at school?” she asked with a yawn.

“Oh yeah, that,” Harry wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, I do hate that tree. It was a whomping willow and it whacked me not just once, but on two separate occasions. I knew better the second time, but I was trying to rush to the Shrieking Shack. I really hate the Shrieking Shack too, if we’re keeping track. Nothing good’s probably ever happened there in the history of that place.”

“OK, but you still have to tell me about the tree,” Gabrielle prompted.

Scowling, he explained, “I’d gotten scratched pretty badly on the face by a death eater who turned out to be a werewolf. Blood was streaming into my eye and I was starting to panic and not paying attention to my surroundings. Luckily the tree took out the werewolf and his friend, but I still hate the thing. Stupid whomping willow left bruises up and down my back and practically ripped the sleeve off my robes.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabrielle winced. “Did the death eater attack cause you any… long-term problems?” she asked delicately, avoiding the word werewolf.

“No,” Harry shook his head wryly, “luckily the werewolf was human at the time. It only caught me with a glancing blow. The scratches just bled a lot and left some faint but permanent scars. No craving for raw meat or control problems though. Magic can’t heal scars from werewolves, you know.” He shrugged, “However, the scars aren’t that bad and they actually camouflage the lightning bolt scar from Voldemort pretty well, so I’ve grown to not mind them too much.”

“It’s true, they do,” croaked a gravelly voice from the bed. Harry jumped, dropping his feet to the floor. He hadn’t noticed Hermione waking up. “I missed the scar completely until I learned Harry’s full name,” she whispered. “Then I felt like an idiot.”

“Hermione!” Gabrielle exclaimed, uncurling from her chair to lean forward and take her cousin’s hand. “You’re awake!”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, “and also thirsty.”

“Here,” Harry offered eagerly, thrusting a cup of water with a straw by her chapped lips. She gratefully took several sips of water.

“I’ll go and get the healer,” Luna said, rushing from the room.

Only a minute later, Healer Mary Roberts and a Healer Gonzales followed Luna back into the room. Sirius trailed after them a few seconds later. After sending everyone a little wave, Sirius leaned against the wall out of the way.

The healers shooed Harry and Gabrielle back from the bed. Then they began casting several restorative spells that required Hermione’s waking cooperation. All of the commotion woke Hoshimi, who sat up on the couch and tidied her hair up into a smooth and elaborately braided bun while they worked.

After they finished, Healer Gonzales cast a few more diagnostic spells. Then he copied the results down onto a parchment. Harry was pleased to see that Hermione’s cheeks and lips had pinked up and her pain-tensed muscles had relaxed.

While Gonzales recorded things, Healer Roberts gave Hermione a brown potion to drink that steamed gently. “Only drink half,” Roberts ordered, “then chew on this tablet.”

Hermione carefully touched the brown potion to her mouth, licked her lips, and then raised her brow and took two large swallows. “Thank you, Mary,” Hermione said with pleased surprise. “That actually tastes good.”

The healer smiled. “It’s chocolate based and accepts a lot of sugar without affecting the potency. Unfortunately, the tablet is much less pleasant. Chew and swallow it as quickly as possible, then wash it down with the rest of the potion.”

Bracing herself, Hermione put the tablet in her mouth and chewed quickly. Her face went through a serious of disgusted contortions before she finally managed to swallow it down with a shudder. She coughed and then swallowed hard, snatching at the brown vial. Flinging the remaining potion into her mouth, she swished and then chugged until it was gone.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Healer Roberts asked pleasantly. Hermione gave her the stink eye. She just patted Hermione’s leg and took the potions over to the trash.

“Good luck on your continued healing, Miss Granger,” Healer Gonzales said, packing up his notes. “You’re doing much better than any of us expected by this point. We’re extremely encouraged. I’m just going to take these diagnostic results down to the lab. Our best arithmancer and potioneer are waiting for them to precisely calculate your next dosages. Healer Roberts and I will be on call for the next few hours if you need anything. She’s restricted from heavy spellwork as she’s still recovering from yesterday, but at this point we don’t anticipate you requiring anything difficult. If that changes, we have several healers standing by in addition to myself.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said softly. They nodded and left the room. Healer Mary sent Hermione a bracing smile over her shoulder just before she disappeared.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asked, stepping up to the bed.

Hermione gave him a complex look and then answered slowly, “Better than I have in a long, long time.”

Giving her an understanding smile, Sirius reached into his pocket and pulled out a fancy purple box of chocolates. A perfusion of bows decorated the top. “I got these for you from our favorite chocolatier,” he said with a flourish.

“Thank you,” Hermione took them and put them prominently on her side table. “Hopefully I won’t need them quite so much anymore. It will be nice to eat them purely for pleasure instead of out of emotional necessity.” Her face turned pensive and slightly sad.

In response to her sadness, her friends all crowded around the bed and vied with each other to brighten her smile. It worked as everyone kept the topics light. Sirius even got Hoshimi to gift him with an amused grin. Harry felt his own spirits lift.

Then Hermione suddenly turned to Gabrielle with a furrowed brow. “Wait, how are the girls doing? I don’t remember anyone saying. I’ve been too focused on myself.” She frowned guiltily.

“As you should be,” Gabrielle said firmly. “Victoire and Dominique are in perfect health. They barely remember anything and thus are enjoying being coddled and spoiled by everyone in the family. The healers don’t expect any problems.”

“George and Fred even tried to sneak them in a miniature dragon to play with, but when Bill found out he flipped his lid and thought they’d smuggled something dangerous but cute away from Charlie. Of course it turned out to just be a transfigured chicken. When last I checked, the girls were chasing the chicken around the house trying to communicate with it in clucks. Feathers were getting everywhere. They said to tell you that they wanted to come visit. Fleur forbid them from taking the chicken to the hospital, so they compromised by asking to read you stories about chickens instead. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, Fleur plans on bringing them by.”

A relieved smile came and went on Hermione’s face. “I’m glad. I’ll also have to brush up on my foreign languages. I don’t think I ever learned to speak chicken.”

“What would a chicken really have to talk about?” Harry asked with bemusement. “Not much, most likely. Better to eat them than try to hold a conversation.”

“Harry!” Sirius scolded facetiously. “What an awful thing to say about the newest member of the Weasley family. I bet you anything we won’t be eating Fleur’s chicken salad anytime soon.”

“Now there’s a tragedy,” Harry joked. “But as soon as she’s sick of the new pet it’ll be back on the menu.”

“You’re awful,” Luna rebuked Harry with a barely suppressed laugh. Then she turned to Hermione with a wink and whispered, “But it really is good chicken salad.”

Hermione gave a quick smile, but then she looked back at Harry hesitantly. “What about Teddy Lupin? Did you find him?”

All of the mirth dropped off Harry’s face. He sighed heavily, “Not yet. We’ve confirmed that Parvati took him and that he’s still alive, but we haven’t figured out where he’s being held.”

“Do you have any leads?” she asked gently.

“Not as many as we’d like,” Harry shrugged and forced down his misery and sense of urgency, “as always.”

Speaking slowly, Hermione looked down and asked, “Am I one of those leads?”

A stifled noise of protest escaped Hoshimi’s lips as she looked accusingly between Harry and Hermione in her sickbed.

“When you’re feeling better,” Harry said in a very careful voice, trying to ride the fine line between pleading, demanding, and still being considerate of her health, “I would count it as a great favor if you’d teach me how to do a blood spell to find Teddy.”

The room held its breath.

“Use the one Sirius found,” Hermione offered simply, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. She blinked heavily.

“But that spell only tracks horcruxes,” Sirius exclaimed with confusion. “I checked.”

Hermione shook her head weakly. “It tracks similar magics: soul or blood.” Involuntarily yawning, she sagged back into her pillow, barely keeping her eyes open. “Get Hoshimi and Luna to look at it… with you. Though the blood… may be a problem.” Then she passed out.

Frustrated but hopeful, Harry turned to his dad. “Do you still have the book?”

“Of course I still have the book,” Sirius said scornfully. “I’ll go get it and come back.”

Stepping forward, Hoshimi interjected, “Better yet, meet us at the Ministry. We already have a research room set up and we ‘conveniently’ forgot to return the time-dilation generator.”

Then Hoshimi turned to Harry and added preemptively, “Hermione needs her rest. You can go and get us more snacks.”

Harry pursed his lips and swallowed down his temper. “There’s a boy’s life at stake. That said, I’m just as committed to Hermione’s recovery as you are.”

For a moment Hoshimi simply examined him with a level stare. Then she bowed her head. “Keep your actions consistent with your words and we will have no problems.” Turning, she swept regally from the room.

Harry scowled. Sirius looked after her with appreciation, which annoyed him even more. Wasn’t his dad supposed to be on his side?

Following on her heels, Luna looked back with an apologetic smile. “We really could use the snacks though,” she told Harry gently. “Especially if we’re going to focus on research instead of the rumruffles drawn by the time-turners.” Then they disappeared down the hall.

Suddenly Sirius clapped him on the back, breaking his confusion. “It’s the end result that matters,” Sirius said. Then he touched Hermione’s hand in farewell, nodded to Gabrielle, and left to find the book.

Harry walked to the end of the bed and put his hand on Hermione’s blanketed ankle. Looking awkward, Gabrielle shifted from foot to foot and then walked to the other side of the room, turned her back, and began tidying to give him some privacy. “Sweet dreams and a swift recovery,” Harry whispered softly, not wanting to wake Hermione from her healing sleep.

Although he desperately needed her help, he didn’t want to do anything that would impede her recovery. He had too many hopes and dreams about the two of them waiting to be fulfilled. Rubbing his thumb up and down her shin, he took comfort from the beauty of her relaxed face. Then he stepped back reluctantly and left to go and pick up snacks for the researchers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now you know where Harry’s scars come from and why Parvati always stared at them (the werewolf connection).  
> If you are interested, check out my tumblr for photos of who I cast to act in my story. Or ignore it if you don’t like it.  
> Hoshimi Kurokawa – played by Yukie Nakama  
> Auror Akeem Bass – played by Denzel Washington  
> Prunellie Moreau – played by Amanda Seyfried


	36. The Research Room

 

When Harry arrived at Luna’s research room, he found the door locked. In front of the door hung a turquoise cord ending with a tassel longer than his arm. A small sign was clipped to the middle of the cord. “Pull cord for admittance. Urgent business only.”

Swinging the bags of food in his hands, Harry decided that the ladies would count food as suitably urgent. He’d also picked up drinks: a box of PG Tips for Sirius, bottled strawberry lemonade for Luna, and something called ‘ _Pocari Sweat_ ’ for Hoshimi. Reaching up, Harry pulled the turquoise cord.

Immediately the edges of the door started flashing yellow and green and emitted a faint steam. Unfazed, Harry waited. The door opened about a minute later. “If that’s you again, Phillips,” threatened Sirius with annoyance before he recognized Harry standing in the hall with his hands full of food bags.

“Oh sorry, Harry. Come on in. We’re absolutely famished.” Taking one of the bags form Harry, Sirius ushered him into the room and resealed the door. Sirius had taken off his outer robes and rolled up his sleeves. His pants looked wrinkled and his curly hair slightly frazzled. “What took you so long?”

The ladies sat hunched over a table covered in books and slips of parchment. Hoshimi had a streak of ink along the edge of her chin. Additionally, a weird hair comb shaped like a gerbil crossed with a grindylow now kept Luna’s hair out of her face and secured it in a large, messy bun atop her head. Harry blinked, but he’d seen Luna wear worse, so he shrugged it off and walked forward.

“I got here pretty quickly, all things considered. I wanted to make sure I had enough snacks for the rest of the day and I wanted to include some Japanese things for Hoshimi,” Harry explained.

“Time field,” Luna called out without looking up. “We’ve been working for hours and hours and are absolutely famished. Set up the food, will you?”

_What made everyone think they could just order him around this morning? Had he become a waiter when he wasn’t looking?_ Stuffing down his annoyance again, Harry reminded himself that no one had gotten much sleep lately. They were trying to help Teddy and he needed to support that, even if it meant fetching and serving food.

“I’ll help,” Sirius mumbled around the carrot stick dangling from his lips. He crunched, then began unloading the bags onto a relatively clear table. A picture of Teddy had been blown up and stuck to the wall above it for inspiration. His godson was smiling and showing off his new school backpack. It made Harry stare, then swallow thickly. Joining Sirius, Harry set out the food and drinks.

Suddenly Sirius paused with a disturbed look on his face. He held out the bottle of _Pocari Sweat_ to Harry. “This isn’t really bottled sweat, is it?” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“I’m hoping not,” Harry answered softly. “The shopkeeper said Hoshimi would like it.” They both turned to look at the Japanese woman.

Hoshimi sat up and stretched, making Sirius sigh in appreciation, before getting up and walking over. “Pocari Sweat is refreshing, like a cross between juice and a sport drink but less sugary,” she said as she twisted off the cap and took a long swallow. Then she put down the bottle with a satisfied sigh. “Thanks. That was very thoughtful of you to buy it.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry replied. “Also, you’ve got a bit of-” he gestured to the ink on her chin. She raised a hand to her face in confusion.

“Here, let me,” Sirius said, stepping forward and sweeping his fingers down her jaw. She stared up at him wide-eyed until he flourished his dirty fingers.

“Oh, thank you,” she said with a blush that dropped twenty years from her face. Sirius grinned into her soft eyes.

Luna unintentionally ruined the moment by bumping into them on the way to the food. “Sorry,” she said absently as she grabbed a plate and piled it high with crisps, carrots, and a sandwich. “I made the mistake of skipping breakfast before going to the hospital this morning. My stomach’s been turning itself inside out like a flubertian yelt.”

Seeing the strawberry lemonade, her favorite, Luna snatched it up, tucked it under her arm, and turned to smile. “Bless you, Harry. You’re a gift from magic herself.” Then she moved to a chair and settled down to eat.

On seeing everyone’s hunger and delight with the food, Harry felt guilty for his earlier surliness. They’d obviously been working hard. “I’m glad I could help,” he said with real honestly. “How goes the research? I only vaguely remember the spell from when we used it six years ago.”

Hoshimi looked up from her plate, “Your father is much more intelligent than he first appears,” she said with mixed praise. “If he wasn’t so focused on administration and politics, he’d do very well in the Department of Spell Recovery and Creation.”

“You flatter me,” Sirius said as he brewed four steaming mugs of PG Tips black tea. Harry took one and walked another over to Luna, who’d already finished her lemonade. Sirius passed one to Hoshimi.

After a sip of her hot tea, Hoshimi sighed into the mug and let the steam wash over her face. “You might remember that the spell was originally used to find lost hunting hounds and other prized pets. It required the ritual sacrifice and soul rendering of a blood relative to create a link between the remaining pets and the owner. What Hermione figured out, and what Sirius here rediscovered years ago, was that the spell records the unique signature of shared family magic, be it through blood or spirit. Then it tracks that unique pattern. We’ve examined how Sirius altered the spell to find Voldemort, but as there’s no shared soul pieces between Teddy and anyone else, that makes that route useless.”

“We think we’ve figured out what Hermione did. It looks like she used the basis of the spell to reveal the pattern of family magic shared with her cousins. Then she used that to track them down by skimming along the edge of the astral plane looking for a match. However we keep stumbling on the mechanics of the spell, mainly the blood requirement. We’re missing something, because according to our arithmancy, Hermione should have died the first time she cast the spell. The amount of blood it demands should have killed her,” Hoshimi explained starkly.

“Of course,” Luna interjected, “we haven’t figured out which part of the modified spell is actually the most deadly. It could be the initial stage, when the caster uses their blood to reveal the magical pattern for the spell to search for. Any relative but a maternal twin would require several pints of blood to generate an accurate reading. Even once the pattern is generated, it resists staying static. Family magic by its very nature is fluid, not fixed. The spell serves to bind the pattern to a scaffold.”

Luna stopped to take a sip of tea. Then she continued, “The second part of the spell could be just as deadly. The caster needs to continually bleed during the search. This feeds extra familial blood magic into the search pattern to keep it from seeping away from the spell’s scaffolding. If the bleeding stops before the target is found, the magical pattern evaporates and the initial pattern generation spell must be restarted. This continual exsanguination to maintain the magical search on top of the initial bloodletting should very quickly lead to hypovolemia, shock, and death.”

Feeling pale, Harry asked, “Could she have used blood replenishment potions the first time?”

“We already thought of that,” Sirius said dourly. “Blood replenishment potions don’t regenerate the magic in the blood, just the physical components. They would keep you alive, but not the spell. It would still take days or even weeks to recover enough to cast the spell again.”

Tossing her empty bottle of Pocari Sweat into the trash, Hoshimi added, “Since reports from those present indicate that Hermione cut across a previous scar to initiate the blood spell to find the Weasley girls, she had to be piggybacking on the previous spell with Gabrielle somehow. It is possible that successful completion of the spell creates a permanent mold of the family magic’s pattern that can then be reused in the future.”

“But that doesn’t help us with initiating the spell for the first time,” Sirius finished. “With you, Harry, we already had the sacrifice of the horcruxes to fix the magical pattern. We only needed the initial offering of blood, not the continual bleeding, to link the horcrux pieces through the astral plane.” He rubbed his forehead wearily.

“Hermione did mention that she thought the blood would be a problem,” Luna reminded them.

Disappointed and headachy from following the complicated explanation, Harry shoved his fists into his pockets. “So what’s next then?”

“We narrow our questions as much as possible and then go visit Hermione,” Hoshimi said dourly. “I’d prefer not to bother her again, but it’s looking more and more likely that we’re going to need her input soon. She’s spent the most time with the spell out of any of us. We don’t know how much time the boy has left. Parvati could have stashed him somewhere without any food or drink. We’re using the time dilation field as much as possible, but at some point we’re going to have to get out there and try something. We know we’re racing against the clock.”

“Right,” Harry said, glad that she appreciated the severity of the situation with Teddy, but still shaken to hear it spoken out loud like that. “What can I do to help? Do you want me to go and get more snacks? Or any other books?”

Shaking her head, Luna gestured him over to a pile of books. “Look through those with us for something useful. We can also use you as a sounding board.”

“Of course,” Harry stood up and began tidying the food table. He was glad he’d gotten enough for several meals. “Just let me clean this up a bit and then I’ll join you.” Cleaning often made Harry feel better. At least it was something he could control.

 


	37. Fulfilling the Blood Requirement

 

Approximately 24 hours later, including a three-hour nap Hoshimi forced them to take when they got too tired to think straight, Luna and Hoshimi sat back from the table with matching sighs. Harry looked up curiously to watch them. The two researchers met each other’s eyes wordlessly.

“What?” Harry finally asked them.

Turning, Luna gave him a weary smile. “We’ve hit a dead end. We’re pretty sure that the blood requirement for the pattern generation part of the spell is our biggest hurdle, but we stopped making progress over an hour ago.”

“It’s time to go and talk to Hermione again,” Hoshimi sighed. “There’s no other choice.”

While they got ready to leave, Sirius stepped out of the time dilation field. The rest of them packed up their notes and books. After deactivating the time dilation field and locking the time turners away in a secure pouch to take with them, Luna led the way into the hall. The hall clock said it was barely going on one o’clock on Friday afternoon, despite it feeling like Saturday night to the rest of them.

In the atrium, Sirius met them by the fountain. “Here you go,” he passed a potion vial to each of them, “a little pepper up potion with a few additives to help us on our way. Down the hatch!”

Ignoring the curious looks from passersbys, everyone tipped back their heads and downed their vials.  Harry shook his head vigorously as steam shot from his ears, trying to dislodge the condensation. Thankfully he now felt awake and energetic. The much more perky group made their way over to the floo.

At the hospital, the receptionist looked sourly at the large group of visitors returning so soon to disturb her patients. She opened her mouth to say something disapproving. Then she recognized Harry and Sirius. Her mouth closed with a click and, disgruntled, she gestured them through with tight lips.

Inside Hermione’s room they found Draco speaking with Gabrielle and Hermione. “You’re back rather soon,” Gabrielle said as she looked at the clock. Her face looked drawn and tense.

“Maybe to you,” Sirius groaned as he flopped into a chair. “To us it feels like a day and a half since we’ve been here.”

“You are looking greasier than usual,” Draco replied. Sirius shot him a rude hand gesture.

“What brings you here, Draco?” Harry asked. “I thought you were holding things down at the office. Did something come up?”

Draco nodded. “They’re planning on extraditing Prunellie Moreau to France today. The French Ministry wants her there ASAP to answer for her crimes and to make sure they have complete names and details on all of her victims. Gabrielle and Hermione are going to have to submit more testimony, but they have a couple of weeks to prepare for that. I just swung by to update them on the progress and get them to sign the paperwork needed to pass things off to the French. Additionally, I wasn’t sure if anyone had told Hermione that Moreau had been caught.”

Looking at the emotion in Hermione’s eyes, Harry winced. “I’m sorry. Things have been a little crazy lately. It slipped my mind.”

Hermione looked away out the window. “Prunellie Moreau…. That’s the name of the woman who cursed me. Prunellie Moreau kept me miserable for the last six years. Until now, I couldn’t even say her name, I could barely even think it.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Now I can finally imagine all of the horrible things I want to do to her and they already have her locked up out of reach and are taking her away to a different country.”

She turned back to the room with a faintly unsettling gleam in her eyes. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’m not sure what I would do if I had the chance. I want her to suffer. I want her to feel the pain and hopelessness she put me through, but magnified by a thousand-fold. I want terrible things….” She trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the room.

“You aren’t alone in that,” Gabrielle finally said. “I want her to suffer too, but we just got you free from one prison. I don’t want either of us ending up in another because we acted on our anger.” 

Draco stepped forward. “There is more than enough evidence to keep her locked up. I promise you, she’ll be miserable for the rest of her life. She’ll never be able to hurt someone again.”

“Punish her by enjoying your freedom,” Sirius advised. “Live your life to the fullest. Embrace your friends and family.”

Looking at Hermione and Gabrielle compassionately, Sirius added delicately, “And may I also suggest from personal experience that you don’t put off seeing a mind healer.” Hermione squirmed uncomfortably in the bed, obviously averse to that suggestion.

Smiling wryly, Sirius continued. “It doesn’t have to be like your experience at the Institute, Hermione. When it’s your choice, it becomes a partnership. Talking to a professional takes bravery, but it can give you the tools to heal yourself. Just like anything, it takes time and effort, but I promise that it really does help. A good mind healer can also be a friend. In fact, I already have an appointment with mine for next week. You’re welcome to come and meet her with me.”

Gabrielle took her cousin’s hand. “I spent an hour talking to mine last night on an international call to France. It didn’t fix everything, but it helped me to feel better.”

Blowing out a breath, Hermione bowed her head and said softly. “I suppose I could try to meet your friend, Sirius. At least once.”

“Good,” Sirius said with a gentle smile.

Draco cleared his throat, “I was just about to leave, but what are the lot of you doing back so soon? Is this just a social visit? Or something more?”

“We’re hoping to use Hermione’s spell to find Teddy, but we have a few more questions,” Harry explained.

“Whatever I can do to help,” Hermione said steadily, seemingly happy about the change in subject.

Notebook and quill in hand, Hoshimi came forward and sat in the chair next to Hermione’s bed. “We’ve gone over the spell and we’re stuck at the blood requirement. The creation of the family magic pattern takes too much for just one person. How did you manage to cast it without killing yourself?” she asked intently.

“Mostly luck,” Hermione answered wryly. “I don’t think it’ll help you, but the largest piece of good fortune came from Gabrielle giving me a drop of her blood the morning she was kidnapped.”

“I don’t remember doing that,” Gabrielle said with confusion.

“Does ‘ _blood brothers forever_ ’ ring any bells?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, that? Really?” Gabrielle shook her head and turned to the others to explain. “I’d had a hard time that week. My school friends and I were going to make a blood brother pact. Sherry said we all had to exchange a drop of blood as part of the pact, but then we got in a big fight over something stupid. I can’t even remember what. I just know that Sherry got really mad and said that because I was part creature, she didn’t want my blood anyways. Her sister had told her that our whole family had dirty creature blood. She apologized the next day, but her words stuck with me.”

“Hermione found me crying about it and offered to take me to the Public Gardens to cheer me up that weekend. On the way there, I asked her if she believed that I had dirty blood. We had a long talk about the science behind magic and blood and the psychology of prejudice. Being only eleven, I didn’t understand half of it, so I asked her if she’d be my blood brother. Hermione gave me another talk on blood-born diseases, but I kept stubbornly insisting on it as proof of her words.”

“Logic had completely deserted me. I wouldn’t even change my wording to blood _sisters_. Being a wonderful cousin, Hermione gave in to make me happy. We pricked our fingers and held them together for a moment while reciting a pledge I made up about blood brothers and being loyal to each other forever. Then Hermione sealed the wounds, bought us chocolate scones, and took us to the gardens. I was kidnapped about an hour later,” Gabrielle finished steadily.

Hermione then took up the thread. “Although most of her blood and magic had degraded from my body by the time I cast the spell, just enough remained for me to build on as the base of the search pattern. I didn’t have to use as much blood that way, so it only almost killed me.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to help us,” Hoshimi said with barely suppressed frustration. “Luna?” The blond shook her head gloomily, not having anything to add.

“Can I ask a question,” Draco asked into the defeated silence. Harry gestured him to go ahead, feeling just as glum as everyone else. Carefully choosing his words, he said, “Your dilemma with this Dark spell sounds like something I’ve heard spoken of before.”

Draco didn’t specify where, but Harry had no doubt he’d heard the upcoming tidbit from his father, Lucius. The man had been a dark bastard with almost no redeeming qualities. However, despite acknowledging his flaws, Draco still loved his father. Luckily for everyone, Lucius was dead. Harry just did his best to avoid mentioning him and provoking a pointless argument.

“With Dark spells,” Draco began cautiously, “especially ones incorporating blood magic, it is not unheard of for a group of relatives to pool their blood in order to cast a spell that might otherwise be impossible without extremely rare levels of magical power.”

The room perked up, focusing on his words. “However, it is rare, as this requires a high level of trust. The sharing is much more intimate than the usual conclave and subsequently makes one much more vulnerable to one’s fellows. Most families who cast Dark magic on a regular basis are never able to exercise that level of trust.”

Snapping her fingers, Hoshimi stood up and demanded, “The book! Who has it?” Harry looked around. Sirius shook his head, but then Luna pulled it out from her fuzzy knitted knapsack and brandished it in the air.

“Good,” Hoshimi pronounced. “Okay, we need a quick meeting. Open the door, Sirius.”

As soon as he complied, she pulled her wand out and cast, “ _Acchio_ couch.” Harry hadn’t noticed that someone had stolen the couch back from the room, but obviously Hoshimi refused to put up with that. She directed the reclaimed couch at an angle to the corner, facing in to make a little alcove.

“Luna, Sirius, and the cute blond, into the corner,” Hoshimi ordered.

Gabrielle stood up hesitantly and took a step.

Casting Gabrielle a look of exasperation, Hoshimi said, “Not you, the cute blond _man_. I don’t have his name yet, but trust me, I’ll be fixing that shortly.”

An amused Draco joined Luna and a pouting Sirius in the corner behind the couch. Hoshimi followed and pulled the couch in, shutting the alcove off from the rest of the room. “We’ll be just a moment,” she told them, nodding at Luna.

As a white fog started to obscure the corner, Harry saw Luna pull out the field projection time-turners. Then the corner disappeared into the fog. Harry turned to Gabrielle and Hermione. “Well, that sounded promising at least.” He plopped himself into a nearby chair, trying not to feel left out.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful,” Hermione offered, discouraged.

“Hey, no, you were helpful,” Harry disagreed. He didn’t want her getting upset over something she couldn’t control.

Then he cast around for a more upbeat topic. “Have the Weasley girls managed to sneak the chicken in yet?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head, “No, but Ron stopped by with an update and dropped off some books in case I got bored and needed something to read.” She gestured to an orange stack on the table next to the purple chocolates.

Giggling, Gabrielle leaned towards Harry and confided, “They’re all quidditch books featuring the Chudley Cannons.”

“It was a peace offering.” Hermione defended. “We’re friends now and it’s the thought that counts, though he also brought me a sweater from his mother. Considering it’s summer, I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

“I’ve gotten a few of those sweaters myself. I think it’s Molly’s go-to present.” Harry suggested.

“But why give me a present in the first place?” Hermione asked with bewilderment.

“Another peace offering? You did save her granddaughters. Maybe it’s also her way of saying welcome to the Weasley family,” offered Harry. Hermione wrinkled her nose, not seeming to know what to think about becoming an honorary Weasley.

Just then, the fog in the corner dissipated. Draco pushed the couch out of the way and everyone trooped out. For some reason, Luna’s crazy hair ornament had disappeared and she now wore her pale hair in two simple braids.

“We think we have it,” Sirius announced.

Excited, Harry leapt up. “How?” he demanded.

“Teddy’s a member of the Black family,” Sirius explained as Draco raced out the door without stopping for pleasantries. “As the Black family patriarch, I’m going to lead a conclave consisting of Draco, Narcissa, and Andromeda. We’ll pool our family magic and blood to create the search pattern, then as patriarch I’ll keep the pattern active while we follow the signal to Teddy.”

“Are you going to cast it here?” Hermione asked hopefully.

Luna shook her head. “It would be too disruptive to the patients, not to mention that a spell of that magnitude would set off the hospital wards. We’re going to do it at Malfoy manner. The ritual circle there is already predisposed to blood magic.”

“Harry, go grab some more aurors.” Sirius ordered. “Then pick up Andromeda and meet us at Malfoy Manner. I’ll be setting up the ritual with the Malfoys.”

“Let us know what happens,” Gabrielle called out anxiously as they rushed from the room.

“Please,” Hermione begged.

“We will,” Harry promised, mind already focused on the upcoming rescue. As soon as he cleared the hospital wards, he immediately apparated away.


	38. Finding Teddy

 

Harry apparated in front of a once bright white but now dingy gray house. He went up and knocked rapidly on the door. He’d decided to change his orders around a bit. A downcast Andromeda Black slowly opened the door. After updating her on the plan in a rapid-fire explanation, he left the much more energized woman with orders to make her way to Malfoy Manner.

Next, Harry took the floo to the Ministry of Magic. First he swung by his locker and kitted himself out in his dragonhide armor, just in case they had to fight someone to get Teddy back. In the auror stockroom, he picked up several potion kits to stabilize victims. These he tucked into his dimensional pouch. Harry made sure that at least one of the kits was specifically marked for children. After double-checking the expiration dates, he grabbed an emergency portkey linked to St. Mungos as well.

Striding into the bullpen, Harry received several double-takes from aurors sitting at their desks. “Why are you dressed for war, Harry? Is something wrong?” Neville asked nervously as he walked out of a side office.

“We found a spell we think will let us track down Teddy,” Harry explained quickly. “Will you back me up, Nev?”

“Of course,” Neville answered without hesitation, the nervousness dropping from his face. All that remained was a steady resolve. After Draco, there was no Auror Harry trusted more to have his back.

Harry scanned the room, finally stopping on where Aurors Magenta Marple and Akeem Bass sat talking at a desk and trying not to look too curious. “Marple! Bass!” Harry called out. “I need backup for a possible assault. You up to it?”

Marple turned to Bass with a grin, jumped up, and gave him a high-five. “Am I ever!” she enthused.

With a smile crinkling his dark eyes, Bass added, “I’d be honored. Just let me grab some body armor this time.”

“Are you fully recovered from your fight on Wednesday?” Harry asked with concern.

“All but a few bruises,” Bass confirmed as he stood up without any betraying stiffness.

Nodding, Harry said, “All right. You all get kitted out and meet me out front in five minutes. I’ll update the boss and then meet you.”

Five minutes later, Harry gathered up his recruits and took them off to Malfoy Manner. A house elf let them through the gates and escorted them to the basement. The wrinkled elf gestured to a set of open double doors at the end of the hall Harry had never seen before and then disappeared.

Everyone else was already inside the large ritual space. At the back of the room shimmered an ancient ritual circle. The family had carved it from the bedrock and situated it directly on a leyline of magical energy. So many rituals had been performed there over the centuries that it hummed with a permanent magical charge. On the left side of the room stood magical cisterns for ritual cleansing. On the right side lay woven mats for meditation. A series of benches sat by the door for any spectators.

Eyes closed, Sirius and Andromeda sat meditating on the woven mats in their ritual robes. In the back of the room, Luna and Hoshimi crawled around the ritual circle on their hands and knees, painting runes and geometric patterns on the floor. Draco and Narcissa hunched over a table talking quietly.

A cloud of rust red smoke suddenly swirled through the air above the Malfoys. Turning, Narcissa picked up a case of glass vials. Draco then tilted the pewter cauldron carefully to pour a twilight blue potion into each vial held out by his mother. She didn’t bother to cap them, just set them out on the edge of the table.

After directing his aurors to sit on the spectator benches along the back wall, Harry walked over to one of the magical cisterns. He began stripping down to cleanse himself when he realized that he wasn’t actually a part of this ritual. Embarrassed, he put his dragonhide armor back on and joined his aurors on the bench.

“Forgot that you were sitting this one out?” Neville asked with gentle teasing. Harry shrugged sheepishly. A few seconds later, Luna and Hoshimi joined them on the benches.

“They’re going to drink blood doubling potions before they start,” Luna murmured in explanation as Sirius and Andromeda came over to the table with the Malfoys. Narcissa handed vials to her sister and cousin. All four drank down the twilight blue potion.

 “It won’t help with the magic loss or keep the spell from failing, but it will stave off death from blood loss. If this first try fails, it will also shorten their physical recovery so they can try it again more quickly. Andromeda thought of it,” Luna explained softly.

They all fell quiet as the four figures dressed in white glided over to take their places on the cardinal points of the ritual circle. Draco stood on South with his mother by his side at West. Sirius then directed Andromeda to stand on East, the place where the sun rose. Usually East was reserved for the youngest member of the conclave. However, since Teddy was effectively both her son and grandson, they’d placed Andromeda there to focus on his youth.

Taking his place at North, Sirius held his wand perpendicular to his body. A hush fell on the room. "Magic unifies this conclave," Sirius invoked, sending his power out into the ritual circle. Its glow brightened, casting long shadows on the wall from the conclave members. “Family unites this conclave,” called Sirius intently.

Everyone lifted their wands and repeated the phrase, "Magic unifies, family unites." Previously invisible runes lit up on the walls and ceiling of the room. The hair lifted on the back of Harry’s neck.

"We are powered by blood, we are driven by love, we are magic made manifest," Sirius called out in a voice of thunder. Then he inscribed a complicated pattern into the air and said something in old French, followed by latin. The runes painted on the ground by Luna and Hoshimi flashed like a lightning strike. Then they lifted up into the air as smoky symbols. In the following silence, the heavy air almost crackled with the weight of gathered magic.

Pulling out his athame, Draco intoned, “I offer my blood and magic to the Black family patriarch.” Then he carefully sliced down the side of his arm. Blood welled bright red on his pale skin before dripping off into the air. Before the first drop could hit the floor, a smoky rune rushed in to intercept it, turning the deep maroon of unoxygenated blood. The maroon rune then moved to hover in the center of the circle.

Narcissa and Andromeda copied his actions with the same results. By this time a cluster of dark red runes bobbed in the center of the circle, while smoky gray runes circled outside like hungry sharks, waiting to consume their drop of blood. Draco kept his expression stoic, but Harry could read pain and stress in the cant of his shoulders and twist of his lips. He suspected that the cost of the ritual was higher than it appeared from the outside.

Swirling his wand in another complicated motion, Sirius unsheathed his athame and cut an incision across his arm. His cut looked deeper, but he also had to make sure it kept bleeding for the length of the spell, however long that might be. Smoky runes hungrily swarmed, drinking in the blood drops greedily.

“With this offering, the pattern is set. Magic unifies, family unites,” Sirius chanted in rising crescendo, the others harmonizing with an almost subvocal chant more felt than heard as Sirius swirled his wand through the air, gathering up the blue runes in a cloud above his head. Then he jerked his wand and tipped his head back, sending them streaming into his mouth and down his throat. The rest of the unused gray runes dissolved.

Sirius staggered, dropping his chin to his chest limply. Harry’s heart stopped. He surged to his feet. Grabbing his hand tightly, Luna restrained him.

Shaking his head, Sirius straightened and resettled himself. He took a deep breath. Then he held his bleeding arm out steadily. “The pattern is set, the family blood searches for the child,” he uttered solemnly.

Now Sirius’s blood dripped freely to the floor, falling at an angle towards his body instead of straight down. “That way lies Teddy, but where to in the north?” he breathed. Eyes unfocused, he turned slowly from side to side, looking at something the rest of them couldn’t see.

Minutes passed. The puddle of blood beneath his feet grew. Tension rose, but no one disturbed the silence.

Then Sirius’s head lifted. “Hogsmeade!” he called with excitement. “Teddy’s alive in Hogsmeade. In fact, I know that place.” His head twisted from side to side, seeking. “Yes, I’ve been there. Where is it?”

Then his eyes focused. He turned with fury to Harry. “The shrieking shack! She put him in the shrieking shack!”

Shaking off Luna’s loose hold, Harry stepped away from the benches. “Draco, drop your anti-apparition wards. Stay with Sirius and keep him bleeding in case they move Teddy and we need a new location.”

Harry felt the wards fall. Then he ordered, “Aurors, to the Shrieking Shack.”

Seconds later, they appeared in front of the ramshackle building. Climbing weeds had almost completely reclaimed the first story of the house. Badly nailed boards covered the windows and doors. In the pink twilight, the house looked deserted.

Harry took point, with Neville, Magenta, and Akeem in support. He rushed up onto the porch and paused for a moment, listening for any movement from inside. It stayed quiet.

“Options for getting inside without blowing debris around that could hurt Teddy?” Harry asked quietly.

“I’ve got a spell,” Magenta breathed. “It works best on windows, but pulls the boards and glass outside instead of pushing it in.”

“Do it,” Harry ordered.

Gesturing for everyone to move left, she pointed her wand at a window on the far right.  Quickly Magenta incanted her spell. Then she pointed her wand at a tree across the yard with a complex flick.

Abruptly a gargantuan, cinnamon-red gummy bear appeared in front of the tree. It planted its little feet against the trunk with a sticky squelch, then stretched rapidly across the yard, getting thinner and thinner as it flew until it rammed into the boarded up window head-first with a dull thud. The gummy bear’s face mashed into the boards and then oozed through the cracks up to its gelatinous nose. The spicy smell of cinnamon wafted through the air.

Magenta said another word and jerked her wand. The gummy bear bounced back to the tree like a released rubber band. The boarded up window and surrounding wall came with it in a gooey explosion of wood and glass, still sticking to the gummy bear’s head like a bizarre crown.

Ignoring the cloud of debris and clumps of cinnamon goo, Harry ran forward and jumped through the hole, trusting his team to follow. Rolling into the room, he placed his back against the wall and whipped his wand around, looking for a target. Nothing but a frightened family of mice squeakily burrowing into the couch cushions moved. A ritual circle had been roughly carved into the wooden floorboards along with a few basic runes. Old blood-stains darkened the center.

Staying close to the walls for protection, the Auror team silently searched the first floor. They didn’t find anyone. However, a box of unexpired cereal and a half-empty bottle of juice sitting in the grimy kitchen gave evidence of recent habitation.

Heart in his throat, Harry pushed his team upstairs. He remembered there being a four-poster bed in a bedroom up there but not much else. The lack of resistance felt slightly anti-climactic, but as long as they found Teddy he wouldn’t argue. The bedroom door was closed. Harry turned the doorknob and pushed it open with a long creak.

When no spells came firing out of the room, he peeked his head in. The dimly lit room seemed empty of everything but dust motes. Hi heart sank to the floor.

Then he saw an orange warning light blinking faintly on a shimmering glass globe sitting on the nightstand. The globe released a sputtering mist across the bed and onto the small lump near the top beneath the covers.

Running forward, Harry grabbed the edge of the blanket. He snatched it up, flipping it through the air and over the misting orb. The orb gave a screech of malfunction that abruptly cut off as the night table knocked over onto the floor.

A small body lay on the bed. It didn’t twitch. “Teddy!” Harry cried, carefully scooping up the limp body into his arms. “Magic be praised,” Neville breathed behind him.

However, the jostling didn’t wake the boy up. Teddy’s eyes remained shut as his head lolled back across Harry’s arm. He looked undernourished and dehydrated, but at least he was alive and breathing. Harry tried to focus on that and not on how shallow each breath looked.

Reaching into his pouch, Harry snatched out the emergency kit for children. He ripped it open with his teeth and frantically dumped it onto the bed. “I’ve got to stabilize him for transport,” Harry muttered anxiously.

“Here, let us help,” Neville insisted, striding forward to pick up an ointment packet and tearing it open. Akeem pushed up Teddy’s shirt so Neville could smear the orange paste across the boy’s sunken stomach and chest. Goosebumps rose on Teddy’s pale skin.

As soon as Neville finished, Akeem went to cast a warming charm on Teddy. “Don’t bother. I’ll keep him warm,” Harry interrupted him. Relaxing his control, Harry released a small flow of magic around the boy on his lap, heating the air touching his chilled skin.

Turning back to the medicines spread across the sheet, Akeem considered for only a moment before picking up a cloudy white marble. He peeled off the paper covering the sticky side and then dug in his fingernail to crack the coating. The ball began to hiss quietly. He then stuck it to the skin beneath Teddy’s nose to increase his oxygen concentration.

Harry’s mouth felt too dry to say anything more as he cradled his unnaturally still godson in his arms and prayed silently. It was too dangerous to transfer him yet, but Harry couldn’t help but take out the emergency portkey. He pressed it against the bare skin on Teddy’s side with trembling fingers. Then he watched his team and waited.

While Akeem started the extra oxygen, Magenta grabbed a metallic gold ampule off the bed. When Akeem leaned back, she cracked it open, emptying the brightly shimmering liquid into Teddy’s open mouth. “Come on,” she encouraged desperately. Half of the liquid trickled out of his lax lips and soaked into his matted brown hair.

Lips pursed, Neville massaged Teddy’s throat gently in an attempt to get him to swallow the potion remaining in his mouth. Then Magenta emptied the last few drops from the bottle onto his tongue. Harry’s eyes teared up in relief when Teddy’s skin gradually took on a glittering golden hue. Dropping his head, he tucked the small boy more securely against his body.

“There you go, good boy,” Magenta breathed. “Let me see that gorgeous color come and go.” She cradled Teddy’s arm loosely in her hands as she watched the skin on his inner wrist fluctuate in tone from palest pink to metallic gold.

They just needed the glittering gold of the potion to absorb fully into Teddy’s skin. Then Harry could safely portkey him to St. Mungos. Tense, he waited with baited breath for the moment he could finally return his godson to safety.

Stepping away from the bed, Neville turned and conjured up a quick message to Sirius and the others.  He let them know that they’d found Teddy and were taking him to St. Mungos as soon as possible. Harry sent Neville a grateful nod. He didn’t want Sirius to lose any more blood than necessary.

Over by the boarded up window, Akeem knocked out a hole. Then he stuck his wand through and sent out an alarm and signal flare to summon more aurors to search the house. They also needed to process the crime scene for evidence, but the other aurors would have to take care of that. Teddy was Harry’s only priority.

“Clear!” Magenta shouted in a strained voice as the last sparkle finally faded from the pale skin of Teddy’s wrist. Before the sound of her voice had faded from the room, Harry activated the portkey and disappeared with his godson.


	39. A New Day Rising

 

Leaning against the wall of Teddy’s hospital room, Harry listened to the childish laughter and smiled. "Try the corn instead of the broccoli," Harry called out helpfully. "I don't think chickens like broccoli."

"But broccoli is delicious! Especially with butter on it," Teddy argued, still vainly trying to push his dripping broccoli into the struggling chicken's beak. "Maybe Victoire's just holding her too tightly."

"I am not! But fine, we’ll do it your way," the little strawberry blond said with longsuffering, loosening her hold. "I'll try ordering her to eat it in her own language too. Cluck cheap CLUCK bawk bawk."

Ignoring her attempt to speak like a chicken, the bird shimmied backwards out of Victoire's arms, sacrificing a few rust-red feathers in the process.

Cackling to itself, it hopped up onto the frame at the bottom of the bed and fluffed its feathers. "My dragon!" shouted Dominique, flopping forward with chubby arms outstretched. The chicken easily dodged her hands and fluttered off the bed.

The girls leaped to follow, with Teddy cheering them on. It zoomed around the room with the Weasley girls hot on its tail. Everyone laughed at their antics.

But then the chicken spied the open door. Clucking in excitement, the chicken abruptly turned. “Look out!” Gabrielle laughed. The chicken put its head down and raced for the hallway beyond and freedom.

"Close the door!" cried Teddy.

"Catch it!" called Victoire.

"Not again," groaned Fleur.

Despite Harry's seeker reflexes, he was just too far away. He dived, but his grasping fingers caught nothing but a tail feather.  The chicken raced through the doorway and disappeared down the hall.

"Oh no," Dominique cried with large tears dripping down her cheeks. "All gone," she sobbed pitifully.

Sighing, her mother picked her up and wiped her tears. "I'm sure she'll be back," Fleur said unenthusiastically. "She's just gone exploring for a minute."

Getting to his feet, Harry brushed dust from his knees. "I'll go and find her," Harry said. "My lucks been pretty good this week. After all, I hunt people down for a living. How hard can finding a chicken be?"

"But what if she hides with all the feather pillows? You won't see her then. That's called camouflage," Teddy explained earnestly.

"Someone might try to lay on top of her and scare her," worried Victoire.

“Hurry up, Harry, or she might escape you,” Gabrielle teased with mock solemnity.

Pointing at her cheek, Harry began walking towards the door as he said, “I didn’t see you being very helpful, Miss I’m-still-sitting-down-swinging-my-legs. Maybe you should go and fetch the chicken.”

“I caught her last time. Besides, you’re the lucky one this week, remember? I’m sure you’ll do just fine. She won’t get far through the hospital’s wards. Probably.” Gabrielle laughed at his pout.

“I want my dragon!” Dominique demanded.

Before Harry could do more than sigh and take two more steps towards the door, they heard the chicken cry, "Squawk! Bawk bawk bawk!" from down the hall, followed by feminine laughter.

A second later, Hermione appeared in the doorway with the chicken in her arms. "I apprehended this fugitive in the hallway. Does she belong to any of you or should I call the DMLE?"

"My Dragon!" shouted Dominique happily, dashing away her tears with a sniffle. Then she turned in her mother's arms and demanded, "Tissue!" Fleur obliged by handing her a tissue to wipe her wet little nose and chubby cheeks.

Victoire stepped forward and took the chicken. Harry closed the door, just in case. The little girl cuddled the completely disgruntled chicken to her face and beamed. "Thanks! She's ours, Cousin 'Mione. We call her dragon 'cause at first she looked like a dragon but then papa got mad and scared and Uncle Fred and Uncle George had to turn her back to a chicken to prove they didn't steal her from Uncle Charlie. We brought her to come and visit Teddy, but she doesn't like buttered broccoli and ran away."

"That's very unfortunate," Hermione said solemnly. “Eating broccoli shows good strength of character, I always say.”

"She's an awfully nice chicken otherwise though," Teddy defended with a shrug. Then he turned, "Hey Uncle Harry, did you know that Miss Hermione is really good at finding things too?"

Harry smiled, looking fondly between his godson and Hermione. "I did know that, actually."

"Yeah, it's true," Teddy continued, "she just found Dragon, and yesterday she visited and found my lost book under the bed, and then she found Victoire and Dominique last week! It said so in the newspaper. The bad lady who took me took them too. But she found them! And then she helped you to find me too where the bad lady hid me, didn't she Uncle Harry?"

Looking into her blushing face, Harry answered, "Yes, yes she did."

Wiggling down from her mother's arms, Dominique walked over and hugged Hermione's leg. "I love my cousin 'Mione," the little girl declared. "She's a hero!"

"A big hero," Harry confirmed.

Dashing away the wetness in her eyes, Hermione said, "Well what about Harry, Gabrielle, and Fleur? Someone made me sick with a bad spell and they helped fix me. They're heroes too."

"Yay mama!" shouted Dominique, releasing Hermione's leg to wave her hands in the air.

“Mama and Aunt Gabby are heroes!” shouted Victoire, not to be outdone by her sister. The chicken in her arms clucked loudly in agreement. Or in protest at the noise, it was hard to say.

"Uncle Harry is a huge hero too, the hugest there ever ever was!" Teddy declared with his arms spread wide in demonstration.

"Actually," Hermione said musingly, tapping her finger on her chin, "there are three more heroes in here we haven't mentioned yet."

"Who?" quizzed Teddy with a puzzled tilt of his head as he looked around the room.

"Why, you, Victoire, and Dominique, of course," explained Hermione with a big smile.

"Us?" exclaimed Victoire, almost letting her chicken escape from her arms again.

"Yes, you," Hermione confirmed with a firm nod. "You were very brave after getting taken by that bad lady. You didn’t let her craziness make you feel bad about yourselves, you stayed strong so we could rescue you, and then you took your medicine to get better, even when it didn't taste good. That's the kind of thing a real hero does."

"Wow, Teddy, did you hear that? We're heroes too!" Victoire said excitedly. Teddy grinned back at her.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door. "Put the chicken back in her cage," Fleur insisted, "just in case." Heaving a big sigh, Victoire trudged over and forced the recalcitrant chicken back into her cage. Gabrielle got up and helped her latch the door securely.

Meanwhile, Hermione opened the door. Outside stood Teddy’s guardian, Andromeda Tonks. "Grandma!" Teddy exclaimed, "I'm a hero. Did you know that?"

"I'm not surprised in the least, my dear," she said fondly as she came into the room. Then Teddy gave a big yawn. Reaching out, she began clearing his books and toys from the bed.

"I think it’s time for your visitors to leave and for you to take a nice nap," Andromeda firmly suggested.

Teddy yawned again and knuckled his eyes. "Oh, all right. Thanks for coming everyone." Turning to the chicken in her cage, he said, "Cluck cluck, Dragon"

"Bye Teddy!" Victoire said, then she shook the cage. The chicken squawked loudly in protest. "Dragon says goodbye too," she translated.

"Bye bye," Dominique said, waving.

“Take care, Teddy, and remember what I said. If you ever want to talk about it with someone who can relate, you have my contact information,” Gabrielle said, giving him a kiss on each cheek and a hug.

As soon as she stepped back, Fleur leaned over his bed and kissed him twice on each cheek. "Sweet dreams, little one." Then she stepped over and picked up Dominique. Victoire took her Aunt Gabrielle’s hand and the four blonds, and one chicken, took their leave.

Coming over to the bed, Harry gave Teddy a big hug. He wouldn't be taking those for granted for a long time. "Love you, Teddy," Harry said against his hair, inexpressibly grateful that Teddy was recovering so quickly after his ordeal. "I'll come visit again soon."

"Love you too, Uncle Harry," Teddy said sleepily. The boy leaned back and gave Harry a sweet smile.  "Candy next time?" he wheedled.

"Teddy," his grandmother scolded.

"We'll have to see," Harry said with a wink, really meaning yes. He planned on spoiling Teddy rotten for the foreseeable future.

Hermione stepped up and ruffled the boy’s hair, "Take care, Teddy. When you're feeling better, we can go and explore that library you were talking about. I always need more library buddies on the weekends." She turned to Andromeda. "Just send me an owl when he feels up to it."

After a few more pleasantries, Hermione and Harry left the room, walking down the hall side-by-side. "How much longer do you have off of work?" Harry asked, trying to delicately ask about her recovery.

Tucking a curl threaded with both cinnamon and honey behind her ear, Hermione answered, "Well, a few more days at least. I’m feeling as well as can be expected, health wise. I have a series of potions to take for the next few weeks and my core isn’t recovered, but that’ll just take time. The mental stuff will take a long time too. A long time….” Sighing, she changed the subject.

“As for work, I finished all of my current projects, so there’s nothing to wrap up. The article in the paper about me made my boss even more offensive, which I didn’t realize was possible, so Luna convinced her boss to hire both Hoshimi and me over to the spell creation side of the department. We officially start next Monday, but part of me is too excited to wait the full week. I’ve always wanted to do spell creation. I was thinking of going in early on Wednesday."

"You still need to build up your magical reserves, though," Harry pointed out. "Stress will slow that down. Instead of rushing back to work, you should find a puddle of sunshine, kick your feet up on a comfy couch with a good book, and relax."

"I suppose that does sound nice," Hermione mused softly as they paused in front of the stairwell. Besides the two of them, the hallway was deserted and quiet. “Maybe I will wait until next Monday.”

Harry suddenly felt like he was fifteen again. He cleared his throat nervously. "I have a few days off this week, too. You could spend some of that time relaxing with me."

Hermione sent him a complex, sideways smile with just a hint of dimple in her cheek. "Are you asking me out on a date, Harry?"

"Yes, but I want all of your dates," Harry blurted out.

Hermione face went blank for a moment and then she turned to look him square in the face. They were actually almost the same height, he noticed absently through his internal panic at her reaction. "That sounds rather serious, Harry, but I’m not sure you meant it that way. Seriously dating me would be difficult and complicated.”

She laughed bitterly. “I'm not just magically drained; I might be emotionally damaged too. They don’t know yet. I'm going to be seeing the healers for a long time to come. I wasn’t exaggerating about the complications. For a girl who doesn't possess the Delacour family beauty, you might not want to commit yourself to that."

Shrugging with forced carelessness, Hermione looked away, adding, "You don’t have to promise me anything, Harry. We could have fun just hanging out as friends."

"We could," Harry agreed. Hermione’s shoulders slumped, though she tried to hide it. She gave him a close-lipped, friendly smile and took a subtle step back.

"We could and probably would have fun just hanging out," Harry repeated, "but I think we could have more than just fun. If you don’t want more with me then that’s one thing and I will respect that and enjoy our friendship. I’m sure we’re going to have an amazing friendship.”

“But if you think that you don’t deserve more, or that _I_ don’t want more with you, well, you couldn’t be more wrong." Reaching out, Harry threaded his fingers through hers. "I like you, Hermione. I really _really_ like you. I can't stop thinking about you, in fact. The striking features of your face and that crazy curly hair of yours haunt my dreams. I pay attention to everything brown I see now because I haven’t found a way to accurately describe your hair color yet. Just thinking about you makes me smile.”

“I trust you, even when all the evidence tells me to doubt it. I want to freely tell you things I've always hated talking about with anyone else. For the first time, I’ve met a woman who doesn’t fall short of my mother’s legacy. I’m not afraid to think about having a family because I know you would give everything and anything to keep our family safe. I’m not afraid of my bad luck crushing you, because like a diamond, pressure just makes you stronger. I’ve never met a woman like you."

"Maybe it’s crazy, but you make me like crazy. I want to kiss your lips and the freckled hollow above your clavicle. The curve of your lower back drives me insane.  I want to hold you in my arms and spend hours just talking. I want to take you up on a fast broom and have you press close against my back in fright, but then relax your grip and stay there with me to enjoy the sky because you trust me to keep you safe and you like being that close to me too. I want us to go to Japan for our first anniversary and share strange drinks called things like Qoo in muggle subway stations and do whatever's seasonal there at that time of year and visit magical museums."

"I even had a daydream about building us a house. It would have a huge library wing full of reading alcoves and those ladders on wheels. You'd use them to get the high up books and I'd admire your figure while you climbed. Then I'd challenge you to a ladder race and we’d roll them along the bookshelves as fast as they'd go. Afterwards I'd take my scolding and leave you for a few hours to read in peace while I went and experimented in my fancy kitchen. Then I'd call you out for dinner and make you set the table because otherwise I’d probably have us eat standing up at the counter.”

Harry was babbling. This was too much. He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t get his mouth to stop. He wanted her to like him as much as he liked her. Desperation had him throwing out everything he could think of in hope that something he said would change her mind. He should probably shut up, but somehow his brain to mouth filter had stopped working.

"I know I'm not perfect. I'm moody and stubborn and irritable when I don't eat or sleep enough. I treated you horribly when we first met because I was unfairly taking out my bad mood on others. Sometimes I’m paranoid. I struggle to trust people. I obsess about my cases and have a saving people complex. I also have on permanent retainer experts on countering potions, reversing charms and curses, a mind healer, and a team of physical healers. Every holiday they send me cards thanking me for the business."

Taking a breath, Harry admitted honestly, "Most of that probably won't change if we get closer either. I’m certainly not perfect." He swallowed hard and then promised softly, "But if you'd let yourself need me, I'd be yours."

Harry’s heart galloped in his chest. _Was that too much honesty? What if she ran away screaming now?_ _At least she hadn’t pulled away in disgust._

Tightening his fingers, he brought her hand up to press it against his chest. "Please Hermione, give me a chance to earn your trust and loyalty. I am utterly serious. I am as committed to creating a permanent 'us' as you'll allow me to be. I want us to fall in love and find forever together."

Barely breathing, Harry tried to smile through his panic. "So in an extremely long answer to your short question: yes. Yes I want us to date, exclusively, and in preparation for a more serious commitment. If you are willing and if I haven’t just scared you off. I hope I haven’t offended you. I’m sorry if I said too much. Yes."

Harry finally forced himself to stop. He needed to look at her face to see her reaction, but he couldn’t find the courage just yet. He thought he might pass out. Give him a dark wizard to battle any day. Emotional discussions were hard. He stared at their clasped hands and waited.

“First things first, you need to actually breathe, Harry,” Hermione said in a voice that wavered with emotion. “If I’m not allowed to pass out, then neither are you.”

Harry hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing while waiting for her answer. Sucking in a deep breath, he blew it out and forced his lungs to function normally. The urge to pass out faded, though his stomach now churned and his cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Then Hermione reached out and placed her fingers beneath his chin, tipping his head up until he met her steady brown eyes. “Second, I’m the farthest thing from offended. You flatter me. I suspect that you might need to start wearing glasses again, but,” she took a quick breath and admitted, “I really _really_ like you too, Harry.” He felt his icy panic melt away into sunny happiness beneath her affectionate gaze.

Smiling tenderly, she said, “I don’t know what the future holds, but I would love to find forever together with you. Let’s try.” Leaning forward, Harry and Hermione shared a sweet kiss of joy, mouths caressing each other gentle and slow, silently making hopeful promises.

Then Hermione stepped back and slid her fingers free. “But for now,” she said with a dimpled smile, “I’m going to follow Teddy’s lead and go home to take a nap. I’m still exhausted and I have a feeling that dating you is going to be a noisy endeavor. I need to regain my energy. ”

Feeling a strange tug at his neck, Harry looked down to see his green and blue striped tie snaking out from his collar. Hermione had one end in her hand as she took another step away, winding it teasingly around her fingers. “Now that we’re officially courting, you’re welcome to come over and cook me dinner tonight at six. I’ll set the table and provide the drinks, strictly non-alcoholic of course,” she sent him a teasing wink. “As for this striped necktie, I’ll be holding it hostage in exchange for one enameled hair comb. Bring it to dinner if you ever want to see your tie again.”

Harry threw back his head and laughed. “Why don’t I trade you a handful of ties for a few more kisses instead?” he asked.

“It’ll depend on how convincing you are,” she grinned.

“I can be very convincing,” Harry replied smartly, holding out his fingers and raising his brow. Giggling, Hermione tucked the tie into her pocket and took his fingers. Hand in hand, they entered the stairwell and ascended into their new life together.

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for your support! Your comments are fabulous! I really appreciate them and you.


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